THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


SEVEN  DOZEN  GEMS 


COMPILED  BY 

.T.  P.  THORNJ)VKK. 


IIAIMTOIM).  CONN.: 

I'm  >-  MI     I'm.   CAM,    LOI-K\VOMI>  \    l',i:  \i\  \I:D   CMMI'\SV. 
1887. 


CONTENTS. 


Alone, 1 

A  Glance  Behind  the  Curtain, 40 

Antony  and  Cleopatra 2 

A  Poet's  Death  Song, 39 

A  Respectable  Lie, 33 

A  Woman's  Conclusions,       ......  9 

Black  Sheep, .18 

Building  Upon  the  Sand 74 

Cato  on  Immortality 31 

Cleopatra  Dying 3 

Conscience  and  Future  Judgment 72 

Cowardice, 22 

Deliverance 24 

Enigma  of  Mercy 30 

Few  Happy  Marriages 66 

Fidelity  of  Woman 69 

Flower  in  the  Crannied  Wall, !•"> 

Footsteps  of  the  Angels, -'•'• 

Good  in  All, I!' 

(Juanl  Thine  Action 6 

Guilty  or  Not  (Juilty, 14 

Haunted  Houses »:'• 

II.-  and  She 19 

Hope  for  tlic  Sorrowing 64 

How  Woiirlcrl'ul  is  Man -V.) 

Humanity, 46 


76-1020 


SEVEN    DOZEN   GEMS. 

Hymn  to  Death, 62 

Incompleteness,      ........  48 

Infidelity 20 

Life 58 

Life's  Essence, 10 

Little  People, 50 

Love,       ..........  47 

Love, .        .57 

Love  of  Nature, 81 

Morituri  Salutamus, 82 

Nearer  to  Thee, 44 

New  Thanatopsis, 84 

Now,       ..........  54 

O,  May  1  Join  the  Choir  Invisible,        .        .        .        .41 

Only  a  Dog, 73 

Outward  Bound, 61 

Peter  McGuire, 28 

Polonius'  Advice  to  His  Son, 29 

Press  Onward, 70 

Progress, 79 

Resignation,    .        .     ^    .         .         .         .         .        .        .4 

Slander, 26 

Slander, 27 

Sonnet, 53 

Sonnet,   ..........  56 

Soulless  Prayers, 12 

Thanatopsis,  .........  83 

The  Bridal  Veil 11 

The  Building  of  the  House, 21 

The  Children 38 

The  Creed 76 

The  Day  is  Done, .        .7 

The  Darling  Wee  Shoe,          .        .        .        .        .         .77 

The  Eternal  One 34 

The  Everlasting  Memorial, 13 


CONTENTS. 

The  Hand  That  Rocks  the  Cradle,         ....  35 

The  Little  Grave 17 

The  New  Church  Doctrine, 71 

The  Old  Whisperer 25 

The  Release 37 

The  Song  of  Seventy, 55 

The  Spirit  Mother, 42 

The  Spirit  of  Nature, 67 

The  Time  Has  Come, GO 

The  Triumph  of  Reason, 8 

The  Vision  of  Immortality, 80 

There  is  no  Death 36 

Thought, 32 

Thoughts  From  Festus, 52 

Toby 75 

True  Kinship, 16 

Twice  Boru, 78 

Unnumbered  Graves, 63 

What  I  Once  Thought, 68 

What  Makes  a  Man 65 

What  the  Waves  Said, 5 

When  the  Chickens  Come  Home, 51 

Whistling  in  Heaven, 15 


1* 


Cl  Me  c  tion afe^tj    i/n^c-riftc  b. 


1   .    .    .    May  I  live  ia  pulses'stirred  to  generosity 
In  deeds  of  daring  rectitude,  in  scorn 
Of  miserable  aims  that  end  in  se£/. 

Be  to  otter  soul»utlie  cup  of  strength 
In  s<w»e  </r«a<  agony.    .    .   . 
/>>•;/'  t  the  smiles  that  have  n»  cruelty, 
Hi  the  s?££e<  presence  of  a  ^rood  diffused." 


"EXCEPT  A  LIVING  PERSON,  THERE  IS  NOTHING  MOKE 
WONDERFUL  THAN  A  BOOK  ;  A  MESSAGE  TO  US  PROM  THE 
SO-CALLED  DEAD  —  FROM  HUMAN  SOULS  WE  NEVER  SAW, 
WHO  LIVED,  PERHAPS,  THOUSANDS  OF  MILES  AWAY,  AND 
CENTURIES  AGO.  AND  YET  THESE,  IN  THESE  LITTLE 

SHEETS  OF  PAPP;R,  SPEAK  TO  us,  AROUSE  us,  TERRIFY  us, 

SOOTHE    US,    TEACH    US,    AND    OPEN    THEIR    HEARTS    TO    US 
AS  TRIED   AND  TRUSTED   SOUL   COMPANIONS." 


(1) 


E.     A.     POE. 

From  childhood's  hour  I  have  not  been 
As  others  were  —  I  have  not  seen 
As  others  saw  —  I  could  not  bring 
My  passions  from  a  common  spring. 
Prom  the  same  source  I  have  not  taken 
My  sorrow;  1  could  not  awaken 
My  heart  to  joy  at  the  same  tone; 
And  all  I  lov'd,  I  lov'd  alone. 
Then  —  in  my  childhood  —  in  the  dawn 
Of  a  most  stormy  life  —  was  drawn 
From  the  torrent,  or  the  fountain, 
From  the  red  cliff  of  the  mountain, 
From  the  sun  that  'round  me  roll'd 
In  its  autumn  tint  of  gold  — 
From  the  lightnings  in  the  sky 
As  it  pass'd  me  flying  by  — 
From  the  thunder  and  the  storm, 
And  the  cloud  that  took  the  form 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 


(When  the  rest  of  Heaven  was  blue) 
Of  a  demon  in  my  view, 
From  ev'ry  depth  of  good  and  ill 
The  mystery  which  binds  me  still. 


(2) 

atut  ©teojratea. 

GEN.    LYTLE. 

I  am  dying,  Egypt,  dying, 

Ebbs  the  crimson  life-tide  fast, 
And  the  dark  Plutonian  shadows 

Gather  on  the  evening  blast; 
Let  thine  arms,  0  Queen,  enfold  me  ! 

Hush  thy  sobs  and  bow  thine  ear; 
Listen  to  the  great  heart-secrets, 

Thou,  and  thou  alone,  must  hear. 

Though  my  scarred  and  veteran  legions 
Bear  their  eagles  high  no  more, 

And  my  wrecked  and  scattered  galleys 
Strew  dark  Actium's  fatal  shore; 


ANTONY    AND    CLEOPATRA. 

Though  no  glittering  guards  surround  me, 
Prompt  to  do  their  master's  will, 

I  must  perish  like  a  Roman, 
Die  the  great  Triumvir  still. 

Let  not  Csesar's  servile  minions 

Mock  the  Lion  thus  laid  low ; 
Twas  no  foeman's  arm  that  felled  him  — 

'Twas  his  own  that  struck  the  blow, — 
His,  who,  pillowed  on  thy  bosom, 

Turned  aside  from  glory's  ray  — 
His,  who,  drunk  with  thy  caresses, 

Madly  threw  a  world  away. 

Should  the  base  plebeian  rabble 

Dare  assail  my  name  at  Rome, 
Where  my  noble  spouse,  Octavia, 

Weeps  within  her  widowed  home, 
Seek  her;  say  the  gods  bear  witness — 

Altars,  augurs,  circling  wings  — 
That  her  blood,  with  mine  commingled, 

Yet  shall  mount  the  throne  of  kings. 

And  for  thee,  star-eyed  Egyptian! 

(ilorious  sorceress  of  the  Nile, 
Liti'lii  the  |»atli  to  Stygian   horrors 

With  the  splendors  of  thy  smile. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Give  the  Caesar  crowns  and  arches, 
Let  his  brow  the  laurel  twine; 

I  can  scorn  the  Senate's  triumphs, 
Triumphing  in  love  like  thine. 

I  am  dying,  Egypt,  dying; 

Hark  !  the  insulting  foeman's  cry. 
They  are  coming  !  quick,  my  falchion ! 

Let  me  front  them  ere  I  die. 
Ah  !  no  more  amid  the  battle 

Shall  my  heart  exulting  swell  — 
Isis  and  Orisis  guard  thee  ! 

Cleopatra,  Rome,  farewell! 


(3) 


THOMAS    S.    COLLIER. 


Sinks  the  sun  below  the  desert  — 
Golden  glows  the  sluggish  Nile  ; 

Purple  flame  crowns  spring  and  temple 
Lights  up  every  ancient  pile 


CLEOPATRA    DYING. 

Where  the  old  gods  now  are  sleeping  ; 

Isis,  and  Osiris  great, 
Guard  me,  help  me,  give  me  courage 

Like  a  queen  to  meet  my  fate  ! 

"  I  am  dying,  Egypt,  dying !  " 

Let  the  Caesar's  army  come  — 
I  will  cheat  him  of  his  glory, 

Though  beyond  the  Styx  I  roam, 
Shall  he  drag  this  beauty  with  him 

While  the  crowd  his  triumph  sings? 
No,  no,  never  !  I  will  show  him 

What  lies  in  the  blood  of  kings. 

Though  he  hold  the  golden  scepter, 

Rule  the  Pharaoh's  sunny  land, 
Where  old  Nilus  rolls  resistless, 

Through  the  sweeps  of  silvery  sand  - 
He  shall  never  say  I  met  him 

Fawning,  abject,  like  a  slave  — 
I  will  foil  him,  though  to  do  it 

I  must  cross  the  Stygian  wave. 

Oh,  my  hero,  sleeping,  sleeping  — 

Shall  I  meet  you  on  the  shore 
Of  Plutonian  shadows  ?     Shall  \v<- 

In  death  meet  and  love  once  more  ? 
2 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

See,  I  follow  in  your  footsteps  — 
Scorn  the  Caesar  and  his  might ; 

For  your  love  I  will  leap  boldly 
Into  realms  of  death  and  night. 

Down  below  the  desert  sinking, 

Fades  Apollo's  brilliant  car  ; 
And,  from  out  the  distant  azure 

Breaks  the  bright  gleam  of  a  star  ; 
Venus,  queen  of  love  and  beauty, 

Welcomes  me  to  death's  embrace, 
Dying  —  free,  proud,  and  triumphant, 

The  last  sovereign  of  my  race. 

Dying  !  dying  !  I  am  coming, 

Oh,  my  hero,  to  your  arms  ; 
You  will  welcome  me  —  I  know  it  — 

Guard  me  from  all  rude  alarms. 
Hark  !  I  hear  the  legions  coining, 

Hear  their  cries  of  triumph  swell, 
But,  proud  Caesar,  dead  I  scorn  you 

Egypt  —  Anthony  —  farewell  ! 


RESIGNATION. 
(4) 


II.    W.    LONGFELLOW. 

There  is  no  flock,  however  watched  and  tended, 

But  one  dead  lamb  is  there  ! 
There  is  no  fireside,  howsoe'er  defended, 

But  has  one  vacant  chair  ! 

The  air  is  full  of  farewells  to  the  dying, 

And  mournings  for  the  dead  ; 
The  heart  of  Rachel,  for  her  children  crying, 

Will  not  be  comforted  ! 

Let  us  be  patient  !    These  severe  afflictions 

Not  from  the  ground  arise, 
But  oftentimes  celestial  benediclions 

Assume  this  dark  disguise. 

We  see  but'dimly  through  the  mists  and  vapors; 

Amid  these  earthly  damps 
What  seem  to  us  but  sad,  funereal  tapers 

May  be  heaven's  distant  lamps. 

There  is  no  death  !    What  seems  so  is  transition  : 

This  life  of  mortal  breath 
Is  hut  a  suburb  of  the  life  clvsian, 

Whose  portal  we  call  death. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

She  is  not  dead, —  the  child  of  our  affection, — 

But  gone  unto  that  school 
Where  she  no  longer  needs  our  poor  protection, 

And  truth  itself  doth  rule. 

In  that  great  cloister's  stillness  and  seclusion, 

By  guardian  angels  led, 
Safe  from  temptation,  safe  from  sin's  pollution, 

She  lives,  whom  we  call  dead. 

Day  after  day  we  think  what  she  is  doing 

In  those  bright  realms  of  air  ; 
Year  after  year,  her  tender  steps  pursuing, 

Behold  her  grown  more  fair. 

Thus  do  we  walk  with  her,  and  keep  unbroken 

The  bond  which  nature  gives, 
Thinking  that  our  remembrance  though  unspoken, 

May  reach  her  where  she  lives. 

Not  as  a  child  shall  we  again  behold  her  ; 

For  when  with  raptures  wild 
In  our  embraces  we  again  enfold  her, 

She  will  not  be  a  child  ;  — 


WHAT    THE    WAVES    SAID. 

But  a  fair  maiden,  in  her  Father's  mansion, 

Clothed  with  celestial  grace  ; 
And  beautiful  with  all  the  soul's  expansion 

Shall  we  behold  her  face. 

And  though  at  times  impetuous  with  emotion 

And  anguish  long  suppressed, 
The  swelling  heart  heaves  moaning  like  the  ocean, 

That  cannot  be  at  rest, — 

\Ve  will  be  patient  and  assuage  the  feeling 

We  may  not  wholly  stay  ; 
I  !  y  silence  sanctifying,  not  concealing, 

The  grief  that  must  have  way. 


(5) 

the  uulixucs  .§;xitl. 


BY    ELLA    A.    BACON. 

I  Stood  upon  the  rocks  one  summer  day, 

And  tried  to  fathom  what  the  waves  did  say. 
At  first    I  on  lv  c;uight  the  murmuring  swell 

or  ripplea  OB  the  beach,  yet  loved  I  well 

2* 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Their  soft,  sea  music,  and  in  passive  mood 
I  waited,  drinking  in  the  grand  soul  food 
Which  did  refresh  me  with  its  soft  refrain, 
Calming  the  wild  unrest  of  heart  and  brain. 

At  last  I  lost  their  gentle  murmuring  swell, 

But  to  my  ear  a  voice  like  silver  bell 

Rang  clearly  forth,  •'  Look  out  on  yonder  beach, 

And  then,  away  as  far  as  eye  can  reach, 

See  yonder  wave,  larger  than  all  the  rest, 

Dashing  against  the  rocks  its  silver  crest; 

And  yet  the  smaller  waves  perform  their  share, 

And  each  its  silver  badge  doth  proudly  wear, 

E'en  baby's  tiny  hands  are  not  afraid 

To  dabble  in  the  spray  their  foam  hath  made, 

But  the  great  wave,  the  baby's  soul  alarms  — 

He  flies  for  safety  to  his  mother's  arms. 

But  be  not  like  the  babe,  afraid  to  stand 
And  face  the  great  wave  as  it  touches  land; 
Altho'  it  lift  you  with  its  rushing  force, 
It  shall  not  turn  you  from  that  straight,  true  course 
Which  stretches  out  before  you.      0,  then,  learn 
To  tread  the  path  with  reverent  feet,  and  spurn 
Not  the  wise  counsels  of  those  gentle  guides 
Who  aim  to  lead  you  safely  o'er  life's  tides. 


WHAT    THE    WAVES    SAID. 

Learn  of  that  law  which  guides  the  rolling  wave, 
Which  chants  its  music  in  the  Ocean  caves. 
Which  shapes  the  mosses  and  the  coral  reefs, 
And  worketh  out  of  human  joys  and  griefs 
Some  grand  fruition  if  we  could  but  see 
The  power  of    Eternal  Equity." 

The  sweet  voice  paused, — the  waves  no  longer  spoke, 
Tho'  at  my  feet  their  gentle  ripples  broke, 
"Eternal  Equity,"  this  echo  said; 
If  this  be  true  Justice  cannot  be  dead. 
Up,  soul  of  mine,  too  long  benumbed  with  pain, 
Let  others'  joys  delight  thee  once  again; 
For  if  thy  feet  may  not  tread  Pleasure's  way, 
And  if  the  night  seem  long  e'er  cometh  day, 
Let  those  grand  voices  sound  within  thy  soul 
And  calm  its  wild  unrest  with  pure  control, 
And  may  the  blessed  proof  be  shown  to  thee 
That  justice  lives,  and  works  unceasingly. 

M-Iv  as  these  tides  do  ebb  and  flow, 
So  sure  will  Justice  measure  out  for  w<>e 
The  equal  balance  of  his  joyful  days, 
And   fill  the  earth-worn  soul  with  songs  of  praise. 

Then  weary  heart  take  hope;  the  way  grows  bright, 

The  ro-y  dawn  dispels  the  darkest   night. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

And  the  deep  shadows,  like  some  frightful  dream, 
Take  wings  and  fly,  before  the  sunny  beam 
Of  life's  true  purposes.      Then  up  !  and  do  ! 
Behold  the  path  that  stretches  to  thy  view: 
The  way  may  lead  thro'  trial,  fear,  and  pain, 
But  thro'  it  a  grand  self-hood  thou  shalt  gam — 
Self-sovereignty  is  the  great  future  crown 
Which  to  humanity  slopes  gently  down. 
When  all  shall  wear  it,  enmity  shall  cease, 
And  in  each  soul  shall  reign  the  law  of  peace. 


(6) 

hine  Jictiott. 

S.    B. S.    H.    T. 

When  you  meet  with  one  suspected 

Of  some  secret  deed  of  sharne, 
And  for  this  by  all  rejected, 

As  a  thing  of  evil  fame, 
Guard  thine  every  look  and  action  ; 

Speak  no  heartless  word  of  blame; 
For  the  slanderer's  vile  detraction 

Yet  may  spoil  thy  goodly  name. 


GUARD    THINE    ACTION. 

When  you  meet  a  brow  that's  awing 

With  its  wrinkled  lines  of  gloom, 
And  a  haughty  step  that's  drawing 

To  a  solitary  tomb, 
Guard  thine  action;  some  great  sorrow 

Made  that  man  a  specter  grim, 
And  the  sunset  of  to-morrow 

May  have  left  thee  like  to  him. 

When  you  meet  with  one  pursuing 

I'uths  the  lost  have  entered  in, 
Working  out  his  own  undoing 

With  his  recklessness  and  sin, 
Think,  if  placed  in  his  condition, 

Would  a  kind  word  be  in  vain  ? 
Or  a  look  of  cold  suspicion 

Win  thee  back  to  truth  again  ? 

There  are  spots  that  bear  no  flowers, 
Not  because  the  soil  is  bad, 

But  that  summer's  gentle  showers 
Never  made  their  bosoms  glad. 

Better  have  an  act  that's  kindly, 
Treated  sometimes  with  disdain, 

Than,  by  judging  others  blindly, 

Doom  the  innocent  to  pain. 

— »V.  A. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

(7) 

iz 


The  day  is  done,  and  the  darkness 
Falls  from  the  wings  of  Night 

As  a  feather  is  wafted  downward 
From  an  eagle  in  his  flight. 

I  see  the  lights  of  the  village 

Gleam  through  the  rain  and  mist, 

And  a  feeling  of  sadness  comes  o'er  me 
That  my  soul  cannot  resist. 

A  feeling  of  sadness  and  longing, 

That  is  not  akin  to  pain, 
And  resembles  sorrow  only 

As  the  mist  resembles  the  rain. 

Come,  read  to  me  some  poem, 
Sortie  simple  and  heartfelt  lay, 

That  shall  soothe  this  restless  feeling, 
And  banish  the  thoughts  of  day. 

Not  from  the  grand  old  masters, 
Not  from  the  bards  sublime, 

Whose  distant  footsteps  echo 
Through  the  corridors  of  time. 


THE    DAY    IS    DONE. 

For,  like  strains  of  martial  music, 

Their  mighty  thoughts  suggest 
Life's  endless  toil  and  endeavor; 

And  to-night  I  long  for  rest. 

Read  from  some  humbler  poet, 
Whose  songs  gush  from  his  heart, 

As  showers  from  the  clouds  of  summer, 
Or  tears  from  the  eyelids  start; 

Who,  through  long  days  of  labor, 

And  nights  devoid  of  ease, 
Still  heard  in  his  soul  the  music 

Of  wonderful  melodies. 

Such  songs  have  power  to  quiet 

The  restless  pulse  of  care, 
And  comes  like  the  benediction 

That  follows  after  prayer. 

And  the  night  shall  be  filled  with  music, 
And  the  cares  that  infest  the  day, 

Shall  fold  their  tents  like  the  Arabs, 
And  as  silently  steal  away. 

— Longfellow. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GENS. 

(8) 

gviumplt  of 

Yes,  superstition's  had  its  day, 
The  clouds  of  doubt  are  flying, 
The  age  of  REASON  holds  her  sway, 
And  Orthodoxy  's  dying. 

The  poor  old  fellow,  grim  and  gaunt, 
Tries  hard  to  stand  the  pressure; 
'Tis  useless  trying,  for  he  can't, 
So  let  him  die  at  leisure. 

Foreordination,  so  they  tell, 
With  Calvin,  is  no  more; 
And  infants'  skulls  no  more  in  hell, 
Lie  strewn  about  the  floor. 

The  Devil,  too,  has  had  his  day, 

He  vanished  like  a  bubble: 

He's  vanquished  quite  by  reason's  light, 

He'll  give  us  no  more  trouble. 

His  home  is  gone,  that  endless  hell ; 
[To  us  'tis  not  surprising] 
And  more  will  go,  as  prophets  tell, 
For  reason's  sun  is  rising. 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    REASON. 

As  drowning  men  will  catch  at  straws, 
Old  Orthy  grabs  while  sinking  ; 
He  retranslates  God's  holy  laws, 
To  stop  the  people  thinking. 

As  stars  shine  on  the  front  of  night, 
So  shines  this  age  of  reason ; 
Its  beams  shine  on  a  glowing  light, 
That  points  the  way  to  heaven. 

What  revelation  do  we  need, 
But  nature's  open  pages  ? 
What  need  have  we  to  always  feed 
On  stories  of  past  ages  ? 

Away  with  these  !  let  in  the  light 
That  comes  direct  from  heaven  ; 
'Tis  brought  to  us  by  Angels  bright, 
To  all  'tis  freely  given. 

—  K  C.  PoHer. 


SEVEN    DOZEN   GEMS. 

(9) 

&  Woman's 

PHEBE    CARY. 

I  said,  if  I  might  go  back  again 

To  the  very  hour  and  place  of  my  birth; 

Might  have  my  life  whatever  I  chose, 
And  live  it  in  any  part  of  the  earth; 

Put  perfect  sunshine  into  my  sky, 

Banish  the  shadow  of  sorrow  and  doubt; 

Have  all  my  happiness  multiplied, 
And  all  my  sufferings  stricken  out; 

If  I  could  have  known  in  the  years  now  gone, 
The  best  that  a  woman  comes  to  know; 

Could  have  had  whatever  will  make  her  blest, 
Or  whatever  she  thinks  will  make  her  so; 

Have  found  the  highest  and  purest  bliss 
That  the  bridal- wreath  and  ring  enclose; 

And  gained  the  one  out  of  all  the  world 
That  my  heart  as  well  as  my  reason  chose; 

And  if  this  had  been,  and  I  stood  to-night 
By  my  children,  lying  asleep  in  their  beds, 

And  could  count  in  my  prayers,  for  a  rosary, 
The  shining  row  of  their  golden  heads; 


A    WOMAN  8   CONCLUSIONS. 

Yea!  I  said,  if  a  miracle  such  as  this 
Could  be  wrought  for  me,  at  my  bidding,  still 

I  would  choose  to  have  my  part  as  it  is, 
And  to  let  my  future  come  as  it  will! 

I  would  not  make  the  path  I  have  trod 

More  pleasant,  or  even  more  straight  or  wide; 

Nor  change  my  course  the  breadth  of  a  hair, 
This  way  or  that  way,  to  either  side. 

My  past  is  mine,  and  I  take  it  all; 

Its  weakness  —  its  folly,  if  you  please; 
Nay,  even  my  sins,  if  you  come  to  that, 

May  have  been  my  helps,  not  hindrances  ! 

If  I  saved  my  body  from  the  flames 

Because  that  once  I  had  burned  my  hand; 

Or  kept  myself  from  a  greater  sin 

By  doing  a  less  —  you  will  understand; 

It  was  better  I  suffered  a  little  pain, 

Better  I  sinned  for  a  little  time, 
If  the  smarting  warned  me  back  from  death, 

And  the  sting  of  sin  withheld  from  crime. 


SEVEN    DOZEX    GEMS. 

• 

Who  knows  its  strength,  by  trial,  will  know 
What  strength  must  be  set  against  a  sin; 

And  how  temptation  is  overcome, 

He  has  learned,  who  has  felt  its  power  within. 

And  who  knows  how  a  life  at  the  last  may  show  ? 

Why,  look  at  the  moon  from  where  we  stand  ! 
Opaque,  uneven,  you  say;  yet  it  shines, 

A  luminous  sphere,  complete  and  grand  ! 

So  let  my  part  stand,  just  as  it  stands, 
And  let  me  now,  as  I  may,  grow  old ; 

I  am  what  I  am,  and  my  life  for  me 
Is  the  best  —  or  it  had  not  been,  1  hold. 


(10) 


RICHARD    REALF. 


Fair  are  the  flowers  and  the  children,  but  their  subtle 

suggestion  is  fairer  ; 
Rare  is  the  rose-burst  at  dawn,   but  the  secret  that 

clasps  it  is  rarer  ; 


LIFE'S  ESSENCE. 

Sweet  the  exultance  of  song,  but  the  strain  that  pre 
cedes  it  is  sweeter  ; 

And  never  was  poem  yet  writ,  but  the  meaning  out- 
mastered  the  meter. 

Never  a  daisy  that  grows,  but  a  mystery  guideth  the 

growing  ; 
Never  a  river  that  flows,  but  majesty  scepters  the 

flowing  ; 
Never  a  Shakspeare  that  soared,  but  a  stronger  than 

he  did  unfold  him  : 
Nor  ever  a  prophet  foretells,  but  a  mightier  seer  hath 

foretold  him. 

Back  of  the  canvas  that  throbs,  the  painter  is  hinted 
and  hidden  ; 

Into  the  statue  that  breathes,  the  soul  of  the  sculptor  is 
bidden  ; 

Under  the  joy  that  is  felt,  lie  the  infinite  issues  of  feel. 

ing  ; 
Crowning  the  glory  revealed  is  the  glory  that    crowns 

the  reveali)i'j. 

Great  are  the  symbols  of  being,  but  that  which  is  sytn- 
boled  is  greater ; 

the  create  and  beheld,    but   vaster   the   inward 
creator  ; 

3* 


SEVEN   DOZEN"    GEMS. 

Back  of  the  sound  broods  the  silence,  back  of  the  gift 

stands  the  giving  ; 
Back  of  the  hand  that  receives,   thrill  the  sensitive 

nerves  of  receiving. 

Space  is  as  nothing  to  spirit,  the  deed  is  outdone  by  the 
doing  ; 

The  heart  of  the  wooer  is  warm,  but  warmer  the  heart 
of  the  wooing  ; 

And  up  from  the  pits  where  these  shiver,  and  up 
from  the  heights  where  those  shine, 

Twin  voices  and  shadows  move  starward,  and  the  es 
sence  of  life  is  divine. 


(11) 

glxe  Initia 

BY    ALICE    GARY. 

We're  married,  they  say,  and  you  think  you   have 

won  me, 
Well,  take  this  white  veil  from  my  head  and  look  on 

me  ; 

Here's  matter  to  vex  you,  and  matter  to  grieve  you, 
Here's  doubt  to  distrust  you,   and  faith  to  believe 

you, 


THE    BRIDAL    VEIL. 

1  am  all  as  you  see.  common  earth,  common  dew, 
Be  wary  and  mould  me  to  roses,  not  rue. 
Ah,  shake  out  the  filmy  thing  fold  after  fold, 
And  see  if  you  have  me  to  keep  and  to  hold, 
Look  close  on  my  heart  —  see  the  worst  of  its  sin 
ning— 

It  is  not  yours  to-day  for  the  yesterday's  winning. 
The  Past  is  not  mine  —  I  am  too  proud  to  borrow, 
You  must  grow  to  new  heights,  if  I  love   you  to 
morrow. 

We're  married  !  I'm  plighted  to  hold  up  your  praises, 
As  the  turf  at  your  feet  does  its  handful  of  daisies  ; 
That  way  lies  my  honor,  my  pathway  of  pride  ; 
But,  mark  you,  if  greener  grass  grow  either  side 
I  shall  know  it,  and  keeping  in  body  with  you, 
Shall  walk  in  my  spirit  my  feet  on  the  dew. 

We'er  married  !  Oh,  pray  that  our  love  do  not  fail ! 
I  have  wings  flattened  down  and  hid  under  my  veil  ; 
They  are  subtle  as  light  —  you  can  never  undo  them, 
And  swift  in  their  flight,  you  can  never  pursue  them, 
And  spite  of  all  clasping,  and  spite  of  all  bands 
I  can  slip  like  a  shadow,  a  dream,  from  your  hands. 

Nay,  call  me  not  cruel,  and  fear  not  to  take  me, 

I  am  yours  for  my  lifetime,  to  be  what  you  make  me. 


SEVEX    DOZEN    GEMS. 


To^wear  my  white  veil  for  a  sign  or  a  cover, 
As  you  shall  be  proven  my  lord,  or  my  lover. 
A  cover  for  peace  that  is  dead,  or  a  token 
Of  bliss,  that  can  never  be  written  or  spoken. 


(12) 

Soulless 

S.    B. L.    C.    T. 

I  do  not  like  to  hear  him  pray, 
On  bended  knee  about  an  hour, 

For  grace  to  spend  aright  the  day, 
Who  knows  his  neighbor  has  no  flour. 

I'd  rather  see  him  go  to  mill 

And  buy  the  luckless  brother  bread, 
And  see  his  children  eat  their  fill, 

And  laugh  beneath  their  humble  shed. 

I  do  not  like  to  hear  him  pray, 
'•  Let  blessings  on  the  widow  be," 

Who  never  seeks  her  home  to  say  — 
"If  want  o'ertakes  you,  come  to  me." 


SOULLESS    PRAYERS. 

I  hate  the  prayer  so  loud  and  long, 
That's  offered  for  the  orphan's  weal, 

By  him  who  sees  him  crushed  by  wrong, 
And  only  with  the  lips  doth  feel. 

1  do  not  like  to  hear  her  pray, 

With  jeweled  ear  and  silken  dress, 

Whose  washerwoman  toils  all  day, 
And  then  is  asked  to  work  for  less. 

Such  pious  falsehoods  I  despise  ! 

The  folded  hands,  the  face  demure, 
Of  those  with  sanctimonious  eyes, 

Who  steal  the  earnings  of  the  poor. 

Those  sainted  faces  that  they  wear, 
To  church  and  for  the  public  eye, 

Hide  things  that  are  not  on  the  square, 
And  wickedness  done  upon  the  sly. 

I  do  not  like  such  soulless  prayers  ! 

If  wrong,  I  hope  to  be  forgiven  ; 
Such  prayers  no  angel  upward  bears  — 

They're  lost  a  million  miles  from  heaven. 


SEVEN    DOZEN   GEMS. 


(13) 


S.    B.  -  M.    F.    B.    F. 

Up,  and  away,  like  the  dew  of  the  morning, 

That  soars  from  the  earth  to  its  home  in  the  sun  ; 

So  let  me  steal  away,  gently  and  lovingly, 
Only  remembered  by  what  I  have  done. 

My  name  and  my  place,  and  my  tomb  all  forgotten, 
The  brief  race  of  time  well  and  patiently  run  ; 

So  let  me  steal  away,  peacefully,  silently, 
Only  remembered  by  what  I  have  done. 

Gladly  away  from  this  toil,  would  I  hasten, 
Up  to  the  crown  that  for  me  has  been  won, 

Unthought  of  by  man  in  rewards  or  in  praises, 
Only  remembered  by  what  I  have  done. 

Up,  and  away,  like  the  odors  of  sunset, 

That  sweeten  the  twilight  as  darkness  comes  on  ; 

So  be  my  life,  —  a  thing  felt,  but  not  noticed, 
And  I  but  remembered  by  what  I  have  done. 

Yes,  like  the  fragrance  that  wanders  in  freshness, 
When  the  flowers  that  it  came  from  are  closed  up 
and  gone  ; 


THE    EVERLASTING    MEMORIAL. 

So  would  I  be  to  this  world's  weary  dwellers, 
Only  remembered  by  what  I  have  done. 

Needs  then  the  praise  of  the  love-written  record 
The  name  and  the  epitaph  graved  on  the  stone  ? 

The  things  we  have  lived  for,  —  let  them  be  our  story, 
We  ourselves  but  remembered  by  what  we  have 
done. 

I  need  not  be  missed,  if  my  life  has  been  bearing 
(As  its  summer  and  autumn  moved  silently  on) 

The  bloom,  and  the  fruit,  and  the  seed  in  its  season  ; 
I  shall  still  be  remembered  by  what  I  have  done. 

I  need  not  be  missed,  if  another  succeed  me 

To  reap  down  those  fields  which  in  spring  1  have 

sown  ; 
He  who  plowed  and  who  sowed  is  not  missed  by  the 

reaper  ; 
He  is  only  remembered  by  what  he  has  done. 


A   •  »<//"(•//,  but  the  truth  that  in  life  1  have  spoken, 
Not  myself,  but  the  seed  that  in  life  I  have  sown, 

Shall  pass  on  to  ages  —  all  about  me  forgotten, 

Save  the  truili*   I  have  spoken,  the  things  I  have 
done. 


SEVEN*    DOZEX   GEMS. 

So  let  my  living  be,  so  be  ray  dying, 

So  let  my  name  lie  unblazoned,  unknown  ; 
Unpraised  and  unmissed,  I  shall  still  be  remembered, 
Yes,  but  remembered  by  what  I  have  done. 

—  Bonar. 


(.14) 

jo* 

She  stood  at  the  bar  of  justice, 

A  creature  wan  and  wild, 
In  form  too  small  for  a  woman, 

In  features  too  old  for  a  child, 
For  a  look  so  worn  and  pathetic 

Was  stamped  on  her  pale  young  face, 
It  seemed  long  years  of  suffering 

Must  have  left  that  silent  trace.  • 

''  Your  name,"  said  the  judge,  as  he  eyed  her 

With  kindly  look  yet  keen, 
"  Is  Mary  McG-uire,  if  you  please  sir," 

"  And  your  age  ?  "  —  "I  am  turned  fifteen." 
"Well,  Mary,"  and  then  from  a  paper 

He  slowly  an8  gravely  read, 
'•  You  are  charged  here  —  I'm  sorry  to  say  it  — 

With  stealing  three  loaves  of  bread." 


GDILTY    OR    NOT    GUILTY. 

I 

"  You  look  not  like  an  offender, 

And  I  hope  that  you  can  show 
The  charge  to  be  false.     Now,  tell  me, 

Are  you  guilty  of  this,  or  no  ?  " 
A  passionate  burst  of  weeping 

Was  at  first  her  sole  reply, 
But  she  dried  her  eyes  in  a  moment, 

And  looked  in  the  judge's  eye. 

"  I  will  tell  you  just  how  it  was,  sir, 

My  father  and  mother  are  dead, 
And  my  little  brother  and  sisters 

Were  hungry  and  asked  me  for  bread. 
At  first  I  earned  it  for  them 

By  working  hard  all  day, 
But  somehow  times  were  bad,  sir, 

And  the  work  all  fell  away. 

"  I  could  get  no  more  employment ; 

The  weather  was  bitter  cold. 
The  young  ones  cried  and  shivered  — 

(Little  Johnny's  but  four  years  old  ;)  - 
So,  what  was  I  to  do,  sir  ? 

I  am  guilty,  but  do  not  condemn, 
I  too k  —  oh,  was  it  stealing  ?  — 

The  bread  to  give  to  them." 

4 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Every  man  in  the  court-room  — 

Gray-beard  and  thoughtless  youth  — 
Knew,  as  he  looked  upon  her, 

That  the  prisoner  spake  the  truth, 
Out  from  their  pockets  came  kerchiefs, 

Out  from  their  eyes  sprung  tears, 
And  out  from  old  faded  wallets 

Treasures  hoarded  for  years. 

The  judge's  face  was  a  study  — 

The  strangest  you  ever  saw, 
As  he  cleared  his  throat  and  murmured 

Something  about  the  law. 
For  one  so  learned  in  such  matters, 

So  wise  in  dealing  with  men, 
He  seemed,  on  a  simple  question, 

Sorely  puzzled  just  then. 

But  no  one  blamed  him  or  wondered, 

When  at  last  these  words  they  heard 
The  sentence  of  this  young  prisoner 

Is,  for  the  present,  deferred." 
And  no  one  blamed  him  or  wondered 

When  he  went  to  her  and  smiled, 
And  tenderly  led  from  the  court-room, 

Himself,  the  "guilty"  child. 


WHISTLING    IN    HEAVEN. 

(15) 

(<&Uxistlitx0  ttx 

g.    B. W.    R.    T. 

You're  surprised  that  I  should  say  so? 

Just  wait  till  the  reason  I've  given 
Why  I  say  I  sha'nt  care  for  the  music, 

Unless  there  is  whistling  in  heaven ; 
Then  you'll  think  it  no  very  great  wonder, 

Nor  so  strange,  nor  so  bold  a  conceit, 
That  unless  there's  a 'boy  there  a-whistling, 

Its  music  will  not  be  complete. 

It  was  late  in  the  autumn  of  '49; 

We  had  come  from  our  far  Eastern  home 
Just  in  season  to  build  us  a  cabin, 

Ere  the  cold  of  the  winter  should  come ; 
And  we  lived  all  the  while  in  our  wagon 

That  husband  was  clearing  the  place 
Where  the  house  was  to  stand;  and  the  clearing 

And  building  it  took  many  days. 

So  that  our  heads  were  scarce  sheltered 
'  Under  its  roof,  when  our  store 
Of  provisions  was  almost  exhausted, 
And  husband  must  journey  for  more; 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

And  the  nearest  place  where  he  could  get  them 

Was  yet  such  a  distance  away, 
That  it  forced  him  from  home  to  be  absent 

At  least  a  whole  night  and  a  day. 

You  see  we'd  but  two  or  three  neighbors, 

And  the  nearest  was  more  than  a  mile, 
And  we  hadn't  found  time  yet  to  know  them, 

For  we  had  been  busy  the  while; 
And  the  man  who  had  helped  at  the  raising, 

Just  stayed  till  the  job  was  well  done; 
And  as  soon  as  his  money  was  paid  him 

Had  shouldered  his  axe  and  had  gone. 

Well,  husband  just  kissed  me  and  started. 

I  could  scarcely  suppress  a  deep  groan 
At  the  thought  of  remaining  with  baby 

So  long  in  the  house  all  alone; 
For,  my  dear,  I  was  childish  and  timid, 

And  braver  ones  might  well  have  feared, 
For  the  wild  wolf  was  often  heard  howling, 

And  savages  sometimes  appeared. 

But  I  smothered  my  grief  and  my  terror 

Till  husband  was  off  on  his  ride, 
And  then  in  my  arms  I  took  Josey, 

And  all  the  day  long  sat  and  cried, 


WHISTLING    IX    HEAVEN. 

As  I  thought  of  the  long  dreary  hours 
When  the  darkness  of  night  should  fall, 

And  I  was  so  utterly  helpless, 
With  no  one  in  reach  of  my  call  ! 

And  when  the  night  came  with  its  terrors, 

To  hide  ev'ry  ray  of  light, 
I  hung  up  a  quilt  by  the  window, 

And  almost  dead  with  affright, 
I  kneeled  by  the  side  of  the  cradle, 

Scarce  daring  to  draw  a  full  breath, 
Lest  the  baby  should  wake,  and  its  crying 

Should  bring  us  a  horrible  death. 

There  I  knelt  until  late  in  the  evening, 

And  scarcely  an  inch  had  I  stirred, 
When  suddenly,  far  in  the  distance, 

A  sound  of  whistling  I  heard. 
I  started  up,  dreadfully  frightened, 

For  fear  'twas  an  Indian's  call; 
And  then  very  soon  I  remembered 

The  red  man  ne'er  whistles  at  all. 

And  when  I  was  sure  'twas  a  white  man, 
I  thought,  were  he  coming  for  ill, 

siiicly  approach  with  more  caution  — 

Would  come  without  warning  and  still. 
4* 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Then  the  sounds  coming  nearer  and  nearer, 
Took  the  form  of  a  tune,  light  and  gay, 

And  I  knew  I  needn't  fear  evil 

From  one  who  could  whistle  that  way. 

Very  soon  I  heard  footsteps  approaching. 

Then  came  a  peculiar  dull  thump, 
As  if  some  one  was  heavily  striking 

An  axe  in  the  top  of  a  stump; 
And  then,  in  another  brief  moment, 

There  came  a  light  tap  on  the  door, 
When  quickly  I  undid  the  fast'nings, 

And  in  stepped  a  boy,  and  before 

There  was  either  a  question  or  answer, 

Or  either  had  time  to  speak, 
I  just  threw  my  glad  arms  around  him, 

And  gave  him  a  kiss  on  the  cheek. 
Then  I  started  back,  scared  at  my  boldness, 

But  he  only  smiled  at  my  fright, 
As  he  said,   "  I'm  your  neighbor's  boy,  Elick, 

Come  to  tarry  with  you  through  the  night. 

"We  saw  your  husband  go  eastward, 
And  made  up  our  minds  where  he'd  gone, 

And  I  said  to  the  rest  of  our  people, 
'  That  woman  is  there  all  alone, 


WHISTLING    IN    HEAVEN. 

And  1  venture  she's  awfully  lonesome, 
And  though  she  may  have  no  great  fear, 

I  think  she  would  feel  a  bit  safer 
If  only  a  boy  were  but  near.' 

"  So  taking  my  axe  on  my  shoulder, 

For  fear  that  a  savage  might  stray 
Across  my  path,  and  need  scalping, 

1  started  right  down  this  way; 
And  coming  in  sight  of  the  cabin, 

And  thinking  to  save  you  alarm, 
I  whistled  a  tune,  just  to  show  you 

I  didn't  intend  any  harm. 

''And  so  here  I  am,  at  your  service; 

But  if  you  don't  want  me  to  stay, 
Why,  all  you  need  do  is  to  say  so, 

And  should'ring  my  axe,  I'll  away." 
I  dropped  in  a  chair  and  near  fainted, 

Just  at  thought  of  his  leaving  me  then, 
And  his  eyes  gave  a  knowing  bright  twinkle 

As  he  said,  "I  guess  I'll  remain." 

And  then  I  just  sat  there  and  told  him 
How  terribly  frightened  I'd  been, 

How  his  face  was  to  me  the  most  welcome 
Of  any  1  had  ever  seen; 


SEVEN    DOZEN   GEMS. 

And  then  1  lay  down  with  the  baby, 
And  slept  all  the  blessed  night  through, 

For  I  felt  I  was  safe  from  all  danger 
Near  so  brave  a  young  fellow  and  true. 

So  now,  my  dear  friend,  do  you  wonder, 

Since  such  a  good  reason  I've  given, 
Why  I  say  I  sha'n't  care  for  the  music 

Unless  there  is  whistling  in  heaven  ? 
Yes,  often  I've  said  so  in  earnest, 

And  now  what  I've  said  I  repeat, 
That  unless  there's  a  boy  there  a-whistling, 

Its  music  will  not  be  complete. 


(10) 


Is  true  kinship  a  matter  of  birth, 

A  component  part  of  muscle  and  bone  ? 

Or  is  it  above  the  bondage  of  earth, 

A  spirit  untrammeled,  a  kingdom  alone  ? 

May  we  not  live  in  the  presence  for  years 
Of  those  whose  bodies  are  close  to  our  own, 

Who  still  are  as  strange  to  our  feelings  and  fears 
As  if  we  were  living  alone  ? 


TRUE    KINSHIP. 

Foreign  they  are  to  all  in  our  hearts; 

Foreign  to  want  and  to  need; 
Alien  to  life,  in  all  of  its  parts; 

Alien  to  thought  and  to  deed. 

Like  a  breath  of  cold,  wintry  air, 

They  touch  us  with  tension  and  pain, 

They  freeze  the  soul's  floiu'rets  there, 
They  soil  our  pure  motives  with  stain. 

And  others  may  come,  strangers,  unknown, 
That  sway  us  with  unspoken  grace, 

Whose  spirit  and  gesture,  greeting  and  tone 
Reveal  the  real  kinship  of  race. 

From  the  spring  on  the  height  streamlets  divide, 
Some  to  the  east  and  some  to  the  west, 

Whilst  all  on  their  missions  peacefully  glide, 
As  each  in  itself  deemeth  best.' 

'/7/cre's  a  kinship  that  passeth  the  earth, 
That  soareth  above  the  portals  of  clay, 

The  soul  centred  kinship  of  worth, 

That  planteth  its  feet  in  one  chosen  way. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 


(17) 


"It's  only  a  little  grave,"  they  said, 

"  Only  just  a  child  that's  dead  "; 
And  so  they  carelessly  turned  away 

From  the  mound  the  spade  has  made  that  day. 
Ah  !  they  did  not  know  how  deep  a  shade 

That  little  grave  in  our  home  had  made. 

I  know  the  coffin  was  narrow  and  small, 

One  yard  would  have  served  for  an  ample  pall: 

And  one  man  in  his  arms  could  have  borne  away 
The  rosebud  and  its  freight  of  clay. 

But  I  know  that  darling  hopes  were  hid 
Beneath  that  little  coffin  lid. 

I  knew  that  a  mother  had  stood  that  day 
With  folded  hands  by  that  form  of  clay; 

I  know  that  burning  tears  were  hid, 

'  Neath  the  drooping  lash  and  aching  lid; 

And  I  knew  her  lip,  and  cheek,  and  brow, 
Were  almost  as  white  as  her  baby's  now. 

T  knew  that  some  things  were  hid  away, 
The  crimson  frock  and  wrappings  gay, 


BLACK    SHEEP. 

The  little  sock  and  half -worn  shoe, 

The  cap  with  its  plumes  and  tassels  blue; 

An  empty  crib  with  its  covers  spread, 
As  white  as  the  face  of  the  sinless  dead. 

'  Tis  a  little  grave,  but  O,  beware  ! 

For  world- wide  hopes  are  buried  there; 
And  ye  perhaps,  in  coming  years, 

May  see  like  her,  through  blinding  tears, 
How  much  of  light,  how  much  of  joy, 

Is  buried  with  an  only  boy  ! 


(18) 


CARRIE    E.    8.    TWINO. 

Out  in  the  pasture  cool  and  green, 
Where  the  murmuring  brook  is  seen, 

Hurrying  its  way  in  its  noisy  glee 
To  mingle  its  waves  with  the  dark  blue  sea, 

I  sit  and  watch,  while  the  shadows  creep, 
The  quiet  ways  of  a  flock  of  sheep. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

I  watch  tbeir  ways  as  they  slowly  pass, 
Stopping  to  pluck  at  the  tender  grass, 

And  my  thoughts  go  back  to  the  fields  once  trod, 
By  him  who  is  styled  the  "Lamb  of  God," 

To  the  sweet  words  uttered  and  dear  commands 
'Mongst  which  was  this  one,  "  Feed  my  lambs." 

But  as  I  sit  in  the  waning  light 

1  notice  the  sheep  are  not  all  white, 
There  are  two  black  sheep  with  their  white  wooled 

brothers, 
But  they  mix  with  the  flock  and  eat  grass  with  the 

others, 
And  as  I  glance  from  left  to  right 

I  wonder  if  sheep  know  black  from  white. 

But  list !  there  comes  from  among  the  sheep 
A  voice  that  sounds  both  low  and  sweet, 

And  it  says,  we  sheep  can  ne'er  decide, 
For  the  blackest  sheep  are  like  white  inside. 

So  we  go  by  this,  "judge  not  thy  brother," 
And  dwell  in  peace  and  love  each  other. 

In  the  pastures  green  of  this  world  of  ours 
There  are  many  thistles  and  many  flowers, 

And  the  time  ne'er'll  come  'till  we  sleep  our  last  sleep, 
When  a  flock  will  be  found  without  its  black  sheep. 


"HE    AND    SHE. 


I've  wondered  sometimes  if  in  that  last  day 
When  the  good  and  the  bad  shall  go  their  way, 

We'll  not  be  astonished  and  doubt  our  sight, 
To  see  our  black  sheep  turn  out  white. 


(19) 

"ge  ami  ^txe." 

S.    B. E.    S.    B. 

"  She  is  dead!  "  they  said  to  him;  '•  come  away  ; 
Kiss  her  and  leave  her,  —  thy  love  is  clay !  " 

They  smoothed  her  tresses  of  dark  brown  hair  ; 
On  her  forehead  of  stone  they  laid  it  fair; 

Over  her  eyes,  that  gazed  too  much, 
They  drew  the  lids  with  gentle  touch; 

With  a  tender  touch  they  closed  up  well 
The  sweet  thin  lips  that  had  secrets  to  tell; 

About  her  brows  and  beautiful  face 
They  tied  her  veil  and  her  marriage  lace, 

Ami  drew  on.  her  white  feet  her  white  silk  shoes  • 
Which  were  the  whitest  no  eye  could  choose  — 

5 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

And  over  her  bosom  they  crossed  her  hands. 
"Come  away  !  "  they  said;  "God  understands." 

And  there  was  silence,  and  nothing  there 
But  silence,  and  scents  of  eglantere, 

And  jasmine,  and  roses,  and  rosemary; 

And  they  said,  "  As  a  lady  should  lie,  lies  she." 

And  they  held  their  breath  till  they  left  the  room, 
With  a  shudder,  to  glance  at  its  stillness  and  gloom. 

But  he  who  loved  her  too  well  to  dread 
The  sweet,  the  stately,  the  beautiful  dead,  — 

He  lit  his  lamp,  and  took  the  key 

And  turned  it  —  alone  again  —  he  and  she. 

He  and  she ;  but  she  would  not  speak, 

Though  he  kissed,  in  the  old  place,  the  quiet  cheek. 

He  and  she ;  yet  she  would  not  smile, 

Though  he  called  her  the  name  she  loved  erewhile. 

He  and  she ;  still  she  did  not  move 
To  any  one  passionate  whisper  of  love. 

Then  he  said:  "Cold  lips  and  breasts  without  breath, 
Is  there  nQ  voice,  no  language  of  death*? 


"HE    AND    SHE." 

"  Dumb  to  the  ear  and  still  to  the  sense, 
But  to  heart  and  to  soul  distinct,  intense  ? 

"See  now;  I  will  listen  with  soul,  not  ear; 
What  was  the  secret  of  dying,  dear  ? 

"  Was  it  the  infinite  wonder  of  all 
That  you  ever  could  let  life's  flower  fall  ? 

"  Or  was  it  a  greater  marvel  to  feel 
The  perfect  calm  o'er  the  agony  steal  ? 

"  Was  the  miracle  greater  to  find  how  deep 
Beyond  all  dreams  sank  downward  that  sleep  ? 

"  Did  life  roll  back  its  records  dear, 

And  show,  as  they  say  it  does,  past  things  clear  ? 

"  And  was  it  the  innermost  heart  of  the  bliss 
To  find  out  so,  what  a  wisdom  love  is  ? 

"Oh!  perfect  dead  !    Oh!  dead  most  dear, 
I  hold  the  breath  of  my  soul  to  hear  ! 

<l  I  listen  as  deep  as  to  horrible  hell, 

As  high  as  to  heaven,  and  you  do  not  tell. 

"  There  must  be  pleasure  in  dying,  sweet, 
To  make  you  so  placid  from  head  to  feet  ! 


SEVEN    DOZEN   GEMS. 

"  I  would  tell  you,  darling,  if  I  were  dead, 

And  'twere  your  hot  tears  upon  my  brow  shed,  — 

"I  would  say,  though  the  Angel  of  Death  had  laid 
His  sword  on  my  lips  to  keep  it  unsaid. 

"You  should  not  ask  vainly,  with  streaming  eyes, 
Which  of  all  deaths  was  the  chief est  surprise, 

"The  very  strangest  and  suddenest  thing 
Of  all  the  surprises  that  dying  must  bring." 

Ah,  foolish  world  !     Oh,  most  kind  dead  ! 
Though  he  told  me,  who  will  believe  it  was  said  ? 

Who  will  believe  that  he  heard  her  say, 

With  the  sweet,  soft  voice,  in  the  dear  old  way: 

"  The  utmost  wonder  is  this,  —  I  hear 

And  see  you,  and  love  you,  and  kiss  you,  dear  ; 

"  And  am  your  angel,  who  was  your  bride, 
And  know  that,  though  dead,  1  have  never  died," 

—  Arnold. 


TO  ONE  WHO  SAID "  HE  S  ONLY  AN  INFIDEL. 

(20) 

go  one  xuho  said—"  He's  only  an  £nf  ifljel  I" 

S.    B. C.    F.    A. 

An  infidel !  how  easy  said, 

But  wherefore  comes  the  name  ? 
What  is  an  infidel  ?  I  ask, 

And  is  it  cause  for  shame  ? 
Is  it  to  take  for  truth  and  right 

What  reason  has  weighed  well, 
To  prove  all  things  hold  fast  the  good  ? 

Then,  am  I  infidel. 

Ts  it  to  trust  with  fearlessness 

The  God  within  the  soul  ? 
Heeding  the  voice  that  speaks  therein, 

Spurning  all  false  control  ? 
Trusting  to  inspiration  past, 

To  inspiration  now  ? 
Selecting  wheat  from  out  the  chaff, 

Where'er  it  comes,  or  how  ? 

Believing  Heaven  oft  fills  the  soul, 
With  promptings  pure  and  high  ? 

If  this,  all  this,  be  infidel, 
Then  infidel  am  I. 

5* 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Unflinchingly  I  face  the  scorn, 

Freely  accept  the  shame, 
For  if  an  infidel  mean  this, 

I  glory  in  the  name. 

With  angel  breathings  round  me  oft, 

With  hope  most  high  to  cheer, 
With  aspirations  after  truth, 

I  cannot  stoop  to  fear; 
Tho'  oft  I  meet  with  those  I  deem 

Fast  bound  in  error's  thrall, 
I  pray  that  charity  be  mine, 

For  we  are  erring  all. 

With  love  to  God  and  love  to  man, 

To  justice,  truth,  and  right, 
Heaven  grant  I  ne'er  be  infidel 

To  past  or  present  light; 
To  creed-bound  dogmas,  false,  tho'  old, 

I've  bid  a  last  adieu, 
Your  fetters  ne'er  can  bind  my  soul, 

I'm  infidel  to  you. 

If  only  in  the  angels'  sight 

]  do  my  duty  well, 
To  falsehood,  malice,  hate,  and  fear, 

I  shall  be  infidel. 


THE    BUILDING    OF    THE    HOUSE. 

With  nature  singing  to  my  soul, 

Around,  below,  above, 
1  never  can  be  infidel 

To  honor,  truth,  and  love. 


(21) 

giittxUng  of  tfxe 

I  have  a  wondrous  house  to  build, 

A  dwelling  humble,  yet  divine ; 
A  lowly  cottage  to  be  filled 

"With  all  the  treasures  of  the  mine. 
How  shall  I  build  it  strong  and  fair, 

This  noble  house,  this  lodging  rare, 
So  small  and  modest,  yet  so  great  ? 

How  shall  I  fill  its  chambers  bare 
With  use,  with  ornaments,  with  state  ? 

Nature  hath  given  the  stone  and  clay  ; 
Tis  I  must  fashion  them  aright — 

Tis  I  must  mould  them  day  by  day, 
And  make  my  labor  my  delight. 

This  cot,  this  palace,  this  fair  home, 
This  pleasure-house,  this  holy  dome, 

Must  be  in  all  proportions  fit, 


SEVEN    DOZEX    GEMS. 

That  heavenly  messengers  may  come 

To  lodge  with  him  who  tenants  it. 
No  fairy  bower  this  house  must  be, 

To  totter  at  each  gale  that  starts, 
But  of  substantial  masonry, 

Symmetrical  in  all  its  parts  ; 
Fit,  in  its  strength,  to  stand  sublime 

To  seventy  years  of  mortal's  time, 
Defiant  of  the  storm  and  rain, 

And  well  attempered  to  the  clime. 
In  every  cranny,  nook,  and  pane 

I'll  build  it  so  that  if  the  blast 
Around  it  whistle  loud  and  long. 

The  tempest,  when  its  rage  has  passed, 
Shall  leave  its  rafters  doubly  strong. 

I'll  build  it  so  that  travelers  by 
Shall  view  it  with  admiring  eye, 

For  its  commodiousness  and  grace  ; 
Firm  on  the  ground,  straight  to  the  sky, 

A  meek,  but  goodly  dwelling-place. 
Thus  noble  in  its  outward  form, 

Within  I'll  build  it  clean  and  white  — 
Not  cheerless  cold,  but  happy,  warm, 

And  ever  open  to  the  light. 
No  tortuous  passages  or  stair, 

No  chambers  foul  or  dungeon  lair, 


COWARDICE. 

No  gloomy  attic  shall  be  there, 

But  wide  apartments,  ordered  fair, 
And  redolent  of  purity. 

Such  is  the  house  that  1  must  build, 
This  is  the  cottage,  this  the  dome, 

And  this  the  palace  treasure-filled 
For  an  immortal's  earthly  home, 

Oh,  noble  work  of  toil  and  care  ! 
Oh,  task  most  difficult  and  rare  ! 

Oh,  simple,  but  most  arduous  plan  I 
To  raise  a  dwelling-place  so  fair, 

The  sanctuary  of  a  man  !" 


(22) 


S.   B. —  F.  J.  S.  T. 

The  veriest  coward  upon  earth 

Is  he  who /ears  the  world's  opinion  ; 

Who  acts  with  reference  to  its  will, 
His  conscience  swayed  by  its  dominion. 

Mind  is  not  worth  a  feather's  weight 

That  must  with  other  minds  be  measured. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Self  must  direct,  and  self  control, 

And  the  account  in  heaven  be  treasured. 
Fear  never  sways  a  manly  soul, 

For  honest  hearts  'twas  ne'er  intended; 
They,  only  they,  have  cause  to  fear 

Whose  motives  have  themselves  offended. 
What  will  my  neighbors  say,  if  I 

Should  this  attempt,  or  that,  or  t'other  ? 
A  neighbor  is  most  sure  a  foe 

If  he  prove  not  a  helping  brother. 
That  man  is  brave  who  braves  the  ivorld 

When  o'er  life's  sea  his  barque  he  steereth, 
"Who  keeps  the  giliding  star  in  view, 

A.  conscience  clear,  which  never  veereth. 

— Anon. 


(23) 

of 
LONGFELLOW. 

When  the  hours  of  Day  are  numbered, 
And  the  voices  of  the  Night 

Wake  the  better  soul,  that  slumbered, 
To  a  holy,  calm  delight  ; 


FOOTSTEPS    OF   ANGELS. 

Ere  the  evening  lamps  are  lighted, 
And,  like  phantoms  grim  and  tall, 

Shadows  from  the  fitful  fire-light 
Dance  upon  the  parlor  wall ; 

Then  the  forms  of  the  departed 

Enter  at  the  open  door  ; 
The  beloved,  the  true-hearted, 

Come  to  visit  me  once  more  ; 

He,  the  young  and  strong,  who  cherished 
Noble  longings  for  the  strife, 

By  the  road-side  fell  and  perished, 
Weary  with  the  march  of  life  ! 

They,  the  holy  cnes  and  weakly, 
Who  the  cross  of  suffering  bore, 

Folded  their  pale  hands  so  meekly, 
Spake  with  us  on  earth  no  more  ! 

And  with  them  the  Being  Beauteous, 
Who  unto  my  youth  was  given, 

More  than  all  things  else  to  love  me, 
And  is  now  a  saint  in  heaven. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

With  a  slow  and  noiseless  footstep 
Comes  that  messenger  divine, 

Takes  the  vacant  chair  beside  me, 
Lays  her  gentle  hand  in  mine. 

And  she  sits  and  gazes  at  me 

With  those  deep  and  tender  eyes, 

Like  the  stars,  so  still  and  saint-like, 
Looking  downward  from  the  skies. 

Uttered  not,  yet  comprehended, 
Is  the  spirit's  voiceless  prayer, 

Soft  rebukes,  in  blessings  ended, 
Breathing  from  her  lips  of  air. 

0,  though  oft  depressed  and  lonely, 
All  my  fears  are  laid  aside, 

If  I  but  remember  only 

Such  as  these  have  lived  and  died  ! 


DKL1VERANCE. 

(24) 

ilcUucvuncc. 

Joy  !  all  joy  !  my  chains  are  broken, 

Cant  and  bigotry  are  fled, 
Words  of  reason  I've  heard  spoken, 

Which  have  filled  my  mind  instead. 
Farewell  now  to  supposition, 

Farewell  now  to  creeds  and  sects, 
Farewell  baseless  superstition, 

Reason's  light  my  path  directs. 

Once  1  feared  a  God  offended, 

Once  I  dreaded  fire  of  hell, 
Now  such  childish  fears  are  ended, 

Now  I've  shaken  off  the  spell. 
Thou  I  thought  my  best  employment 

Was  in  constant  praise  and  prayer. 
Now  I  find  that  pure  enjoyment 

Is  this  world's  best  gift  to  share. 

1' nests  and  clergy,  you  who  tell  us 
We  are  lost,  without,  your  aid, 

1'ivarh  aloud  so  stern  and  zealous 
Man  was  for  damnation  ma<le. 

6 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Say,  why  should  your  God  of  Heaven 

Doom  a  man  to  endless  pain, 
Blast  the  life  Himself  hath  given, 

Making  his  creation  vain? 

Unbelieving,  you  would  damn  him, 

Send  him  to  the  lowest  hell, 
While  the  threats  with  which  you  cram  him. 

Damp  his  life  on  earth  as  well. 
Quit  such  doctrines,  let  them  perish, 

We  would  teach  a  Letter  creed, 
Love  to  all  mankind  we  cherish. 

Helping  all  in  time  of  need. 

We  prefer  to  think  that  Reason 

Is  a  truer  guard  and  guide, 
And  in  every  time  and  season, 

With  its  light  we're  satisfied. 
Soon  may  all  its  dictates  follow 

(This  must  be  the  wiser  plan, ) 
Scorning  doctrines  false  and  hollow, 

Live  a  life  befitting  Man. 

—  Phi/os. 


THE    OLD    WHISPERER. 


(25) 


The  foul-mouthed  whisperer  told  a  tale 
Which  made  the  face  of  honor  pale. 
At  once  with  zeal  that  made  them  dizzy 
Were  rumor's  swiftest  tongue-pads  busy. 
Hither  and  thither  hurrying  fast, 
With  mouths  aglow  and  eyes  aghast  ; 
The  freshest  listeners  hotly  seeking, 
On  every  tongue  to  utterance  reeking  — 
"  Well  !  who  would  think  it  !  can  it  be  ! 
Was  ever  villian  smooth  as  he  ?" 
And  busily  worked  the  fiendish  thirst 
Of  those  who  love  to  think  the  worst. 
By  such  self  consciousness  they  knew 
The  slimy  story  must  be  true. 

How  sad  that  stirs  of  quick  delight 
Should  blind  the  heavenly  sense  of  right 
In  any  soul,  and  put  the  sway 
Of  loving  kindness  quite  away. 
When  scandal  blows  her  trumpet  loud 
Till  answering  furies  round  her  crowd, 
And  bids  her  giMiering  demons  dim 
A  shining  name  and  ninke  it  swim 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS.^ 

In  slander's  spilth  until  they  drown 
The  light  of  stainless  honor's  crown, 
How  many  tremble  through  and  through, 
Lest  scandal's  story  prove  untrue. 
They  love  to  feed  the  fattening  lie, 
For,  if  it  fail,  their  pleasures  die. 

Oh  !  slander's  crew  for  victim's  raving, 
And  honor's  sweetest  life-blood  craving, 
Fear  every  tale  and  hint  they  try 
May  soon  become  to  every  eye 
An  undisgiiised  and  baffled  lie. 
Before  the  radiant  shield  of  truth 
The  shriveling  demons  howl  and  whine 
To  see  a  name  escape  their  fangs 
And  far  above  their  malice  shine. 

—  Scrap  Book. 


(26) 


'Twas  but  a  breath  — 
And  yet  a  woman's  fair  fame  wilted, 
And  friends,  once  fond,  grew  cold  and  stilted  ; 
And  life  was  worse  than  death. 


SLANDER. 

One  venomed  word, 
That  struck  its  coward,  poisoned  blow 
In  craven  whispers,  hushed  and  low, 

And  yet  the  wide  world  heard. 

'Twas  but  one  whispered  — one 
That  muttered  low,  for  very  shame, 
That  thing  the  slanderer  dare  not  name, 

And  yet  its  work  was  done. 

A  hint  so  light, 

And  yet  so  mighty  in  its  power, 
A  human  soul,  in  one  short  hour, 

Lies  crushed  beneath  its  blight. 


(27) 


This  is  her  grave,  the  sexton  said. 
As  he  knelt  and  bowed  his  withered  head  — 
And  he  pushed  back  the  flowers  whicli  overgrew 
The  mound  which  covered  the  friend  I  knew. 

She,  sir,  was  murdered  !    No  !  not  by  a  man  ! 
But  by  seeming  friends  who  tried  to  scan 
In  her  innocent  actions,  thoughtless  and  free, 

A  something  in  which  they,  guilt  could  see. 
6* 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Failing  in  this,  they  began  to  —  talk, 
Wink,  and  insinuate  where'er  she'd  walk, 
And  say,  "'tis  strange!"  and,  "one  so  winning, 
To  be  so  sought  after,  must  be  sinning." 

Thus  the  gossip  gossiped  — 'till  it  reached  her  ears, 
But  none  would  own  as  she  asked  through  her  tears 
To  point  to  a  single  act  in  her  life 
That  was  not  in  accord  with  a  blameless  life. 

They  <:had  heard,"  they  said,  but  they  didn't  know 

where, 

And  exactly  what  they  didn't  care, 
To  be  catechised  in  by  the  "likes  of  her," 
Tho'  they  didn't  believe  she'd  exactly  err. 

The  poison  worked  —  she  drooped  and  died, 
And  some  of  the  same    "friends"   came  here  and 
cried. 

But  I  thought  as  I  saw  some  try  to  weep 
That  the  Recording  Angel  in  his  book  doth  keep 
The  names  and  the  sins  of  those  who  pander 
To  heaven's  arch  enemy  —  and  that  is  slander. 

—  Atlanta  Constitution. 


PETKR  M'GUJRE;  OR  NATURE  AND  GRACE. 

(28) 

111  cOSutae  ;  ov  £lattitc  and  (Grace. 


LIZZIE    DOTEN. 

It  has  always  been  thought  a  most  critical  case 
When  a   man  was   possessed  of    more  Nature  than 

Grace. 

For  theology  teaches  that  man,  from  the  first, 
Was  a  sinner  by  nature,  and  justly  accurst  ; 
And  "  Salvation  by  Grace  "  was  the  wonderful  plan 
Which  God  had  invented,  to  save  erring  man  : 
Twas  the  only  atonement  he  knew  how  to  make 
To  annul  the  effects  of  his  own  sad  mistake. 

Now,  this  was  the  doctrine  of  good  Parson  Brown, 
Who  preached,  not  long  since,  in  a  small  country- 

town, 

He  was  zealous  and  earnest  and  could  so  excel 
In  describing  the  tortures  of  sinners  in  hell, 
That  a  famous  revival  commenced  in  the  place, 
And  hundred  of  souls  found  "Salvation  by  Grace"  ; 
Hut  lie  ftjlt  that  he  had  not  attained  his  desire 
Till  1m  had  converted  one  Peter  McGuiiv. 

This  man  was  a  blacksmith,  frank,  fearless,  and  bold, 
With  great  brawny  sinews  like  Vulcan  of  old  : 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

He  had  little  respect  for  what  ministers  preach, 
And  sometimes  was  very  profane  in  his  speech: 
His  opinions  were  founded  in  clear  common  sense ; 
And  he  spoke  as  he  thought,  though  he  oft  gave 

offense: 

But  however  wanting,  in  whole  or  in  part, 
He  was  sound  and  all  right  when  you  came  to  his 

heart. 

One  day  the  good  parson,  with  pious  intent, 
To  the  smithy  of  Peter  most  hopefully  went; 
And  there,  while  the  hammer  industriously  swung, 
He  preached  and  he  prayed,  and  exhorted,  and  sung, 
And  warned,  and  entreated  poor  Peter  to  fly 
From  the  pit  of  destruction  before  he  should  die, 
And  to  wash  himself  clean  from  the  world's  sinful 

strife, 
In  the  blood  of  the  Lamb  and  the  River  of  Life. 

Well,  and  what  would  you  now  be  inclined  to  expect 

Was  the  probable  issue  and  likely  effect  ? 

Why,  he  swore  "like  a  pirate,"  and   (what  do  you 

think  ?) 

From  a  little  black  bottle  took  something  to  drink  ! 
And  he  said    "I'll  not  mention  the   blood   of   the 

Lamb  ; 
But  as  for  that  river,  it  aren't  worth  a " 


I'KTKH    M  QUIRE;    OR    NATURE    AND    GRACE. 

Then  pausing,  as  if  to  restrain  his  rude  force, 
He  quietly  added,  "  a  mill-dam,  of  course." 

Quick  out  of  the  smithy  the  minister  fled 

As  if  a  big  bomb-shell  had  burst  near  his  head  ; 

And,  as  he  continued  to  haste  on  his  way, 

He  was  too  much  excited  to  sing  or  to  pray: 

But  he  thought  how  that  some  were  elected  by  grace 

As  heirs  of  His  kingdom  —  made  sure  of  their  place  ; 

While  others  are  doomed  to  the  pains  of  hell-fire  ; 

And,  if  e'er  there  was  one  such,  'twas  Peter  McGuire. 

That  night,  when  the  Storm-King  was  riding  on  high, 
And   the   red    shafts   of   lightning   gleamed    bright 
through  the  sky, 

The  church  of  the  village,  "the  temple  of  God," 
\\  as  struck  for  the  want  of  a  good  lightning-rod  ; 
And,  swiftly  descending,  the  clement  dire 
Set  the  minister's  house,  close  beside  it,  on  fire, 
While  lie  peacefully  slumbered,  with  never  a  fear 
<  >f  the  terrible  work  of  destruction  so  near. 

There  were  Mary  and  Hannah,  and  Tommy  and  Joe, 
All  sweetly  asleep  in  the  bedroom  below  ; 
While  their  father  was  near,  and  their  mother  at  rest, 
(Like  the  wife  of  .John    Rogers,   with   "one  at  the 

Invest  "  :  ) 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

But  Alice,  the  eldest,  a  gentle  young  dove. 
Was  asleep  all  alone  in  the  room  just  above  ; 
And,  when  the  wild  cry  of  the  rescuer  came, 
She  only  was  left  to  the  pitiless  flame. 

The  fond  mother  counted  her  treasures  of  love  ; 
When  lo  !  one  was  missing  !   "O  Father  above  !  "- 
How  madly  she  shrieked  in  her  agony  wild  !  — 
"  My  Alice  !  my  Alice  !  — oh  !  save  my  dear  child  !  " 
Then  down  on  his  knees  fell  the  parson  and  prayed 
That  the  terrible  wrath  of  the  Lord  might  be  stayed. 
Said  Peter  McGuire,   '•  Prayer  is  good  in  its  place  ; 
But  then  it  don't  suit  thin  particular  case." 

He  turned  down  the  sleeves  of  his  red  flannel  shirt 
To  shield  his  great  arms,  all  besmutted  with  dirt  ; 
Then  into  the  billows  of  smoke  and  of  fire, 
Not  pausing  an  instant,  dashed  Peter  McGuire. 
Oh,  that  terrible  moment  of  anxious  suspense  ! 
How    breathless    their    watching  !     their    fear    how 

intense  ! 

And  then  their  great  joy,  which  was  freely  expressed, 
When  Peter  appeared  with  the  child  on  his  breast ! 

A  shout  rent  the  air  when  the  darling  he  laid 

In  the  arms  of  her  mother,  so  pale  and  dismayed  ; 


POLONIUSS    ADVICE    TO    HIS    SON. 

And  as  Alice  looked  up,  and  most  gratefully  smiled, 
lie  bowrd  down  his  head  and  he  wept  like  a  child. 

Oh  !   those  tears  of  brave  manhood  that  rained  o'er 

his  face 
Showed  the  true  Grace  of  Nature,  and  the  Nature  of 

Grace  : 

"i'was  a  manifest  token,  a  visible  sign, 
Of  the  indwelling  life  of  the  Spirit  Divine. 

Consider  such  natures,  and  then,  if  you  can, 
Preach  of  "total  depravity  "  innate  in  man. 
Talk  of  blasphemy  !  —  why,  'tis  profanity  wild 
To  say  that  the  lather  thus  cursed  his  own  child. 
Go  learn  of  the  stars  and  the  dew-spangled  sod 
That  all  things  rejoice  in  the  yooilncss  of  God  ; 
That  each  thing  created  is  good  ///  its  place, 
And  Nature  is  but  the  <.i///rWiw  of  Grace. 


(80) 

ii'olcmius's  .JUUncc  to  his- 

SIIAKKSI-KAUK. 

Give  thy  thoughts  no  tongue, 
Nor  any  unprop<.rtioned  tin-light  Ins  act. 
Hi-  :hoii  familiar,  but  by  no  means  vulgar. 
The  friends  thoii  hast,  and  their  adoption  tried. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Grapple  them  to  thy  soul  with  hooks  of  steel; 

But  do  not  dull  thy  palm  with  entertainment 

Of  each  new-hatched,  unfledged  comrade.     Beware 

Of  entrance  to  a  quarrel;  but,  being  in, 

Bear  it,  that  the  opposer  may  beware  of  thee. 

Give  every  man  thine  ear,  but  few  thy  voice; 

Take  each  man's  censure,  but  reserve  thy  judgment. 

Costly  thy  habit  as  thy  purse  can  buy, 

But  not  expressed  in  fancy;  rich,  not  gaudy; 

For  the  apparel  oft  proclaims  the  man ; 

Neither  a  borrower  nor  a  lender  be: 

For  loan  oft  loses  both  itself  and  friend; 

And  borrowing  dulls  the  edge  of  husbandry. 

This  above  all, —  to  thine  own  self  be  true ;  . 

And  it  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day, 

Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  one. 


(30) 

5gni0ma  uf 

FRANK    FELT. 

Amen  !  hallelujah  !  forever 

The  Lord  in  his  righteousness  reigns  ! 
The  chosen  are  saved,  and  the  many 

Are  lost  as  his  goodness  ordains. 


TMK    KNIUMA    OF    MKHCY. 

The  almighty  boss  won  the  battle, 

( Md  Satan's  put  under  his  feet, 
Ami  smoke-clouds  of  anguish  arising 

Kill  heaven  with  aroma  sweet. 

There  stands  a  big  bellows  in  heaven, 

Right  back  of  Jehovah's  throne. 
With  air-pipes  strung  from  its  nozzle 

Way  down  to  the  fiery  zone; 
And  sometimes  an  angel  gets  lazy, 

And  rusts  for  the  want  of  use, 
His  bright  wings  all  flopping  and  twisted, 

Mis  harp-strings  all  dangling  and  loose; 
Then  Michael  says:   "Here,  you  dull  loafer  ! 

Just  jump  these  'ere  bellows  a  spell, 
And  warm  up  your  poor  old  mother, 

A-shivering  away  down  in  hell." 

There  are  those  in  this  heavenly  kingdom 
With  friends  in  the  torment  below; 

Hut  the  cords  that  had  bound  them  when  mortal 
Are  broke,  and  the  burden  of  woe 

That  sympathy  bears  for  another 
I  lest  s  never  upon  them  again, 

Km-  conscience  is  freed  from  the  kiiidin 

That  made  them  do  good  unto  men. 
7 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

A  sweet  little  angelic  cherub, 

All  rosy  and  smiling  and  bright, 
With  joy  written  over  his  forehead 

In  the  glow  of  eternity's  light, 
Comes  up  from  the  beautiful  river 

With  ecstasy  sweet  and  unshammed, 
So  send  a  blast  down  on  a  sister 

Who  went  to  a  dance  and  was  damned. 

A  father  and  mother  together 

Come  up  in  ineffable  joy, 
To  force  down  a  whiff  of  pure  justice 

For  the  flames  round  a  dear  little  boy, 
Who  laughed  by  mistake  when  the  deacon 

Broke  down  with  a  cough  in  his  prayer, 
And  died  with  the  crime  unforgiven, 

To  go  down  to  hell  and  despair. 

'•All  washed  in  the  blood  arid  made  whiter 

Than  snow,"  and  with  purity  crowned, 
A  murderer  swung  from  the  gallows 

Comes  joyfully  walking  around; 
And  creak  goes  the  powerful  engine, 

And  downward  the  rich  stream  is  driven, 
To  blow  up  the  coals  that  are  roasting 

The  wife  that  he  killed  —  unforgiven. 


THE    KNIGMA    OF    MERCY. 

A  pious,  angelical  deacon, 

Who  once  distilled  whisky  on  earth, 
And  sold  it  around  to  his  neighbors 

For  thrice  what  it  really  was  worth, 
Takes  hold  of  the  handle  and  turns  it 

On  one  who  from  godliness  fell 
By  drinking  his  orthodox  whisky, 

To  burn  in  an  orthodox  hell. 

0  beautiful  rest  for  the  weary! 

0  joy  that  shall  be  to  all  men ! 
0  beautiful  scheme  of  salvation, 

That  saves  about  one  out  of  ten  ! 
Sweet  message  of  love  from  the  ages  ! 

Sin<>ct  story  that  ever  is  new  ! 
"Believe,  or  be  damned  "  to  perdition! 

1  believe!      rU  be  dinn/n//  if  I  do! 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

(31) 

ClPatcr  jcm  ttue  Inxmovtatiti)  of  tlxc 

ADDISON. 

It  must  be  so  ; — Plato,  thou  reason'st  well, 
Else  whence  this  pleasing  hope,  this  fond  desire. 
This  longing  after  immortality  ? 
Or  whence  this  secret  dread  and  inward  frorror 
Of  falling  into  nought  ?     Why  shrinks  the  soul 
Back  on  herself,  and  startles  at  destruction  ? 

-  'Tis  the  Divinity  that  stirs  within  us, 
'Tis  heaven  itself  that  points  out  an  hereafter, 
And  intimates  Eternity  to  man. 
Eternity  !  —  thou  pleasing  —  dreadful  thought ! 
Through  what  variety  of  untried  being  — 
Through  what  new  scenes  and  changes  must  we  pass 
The  soul,  secured  in  her  existence,  smiles 
At  the  drawn  dagger,  and  defies  its  point.     .     .     . 
The  stars  shall  fade  away,  the  sun  himself 
Grow  dim  with  age,  and  natui'e  sink  in  years; 
But  thou  shalt  flourish  in  immortal  youth, 
Unhurt  amid  the  war  of  elements, 
The  wreck  of  matter,  and  the  crash  of  worlds. 


THOUGHT. 


Thou01xt. 

C.  P.  CRANCH. 

Thought  is  deeper  than  all  speech, 
Feeling  deeper  than  all  thought  ; 

Souls  to  souls  can  never  teach 

What  unto  themselves  was  taught. 

We  are  spirits  clad  in  veils  ; 

Man  by  man  was  never  seen  ; 
All  our  deep  communing  fails 

To  remove  the  shadowy  screen. 

Heart  to  heart  was  never  known  ; 

Mind  with  mind  did  never  meet  ; 
We  are  columns  left  alone 

Of  a  temple  once  complete. 

Like  the  stars  that  gem  the  sky, 
Far  apart  though  seeming  near, 

In  our  light  we  scattered  lie  ; 
All  is  thus  but  starlight  here. 

What  is  social  company 

But  the  babbling  summer  stream  ? 
What  our  wise  philosophy 

But  tin-  u-biiii-iii^  of  a  dream  ? 
7* 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Only  when  the  sun  of  love 

Melts  the  scattered  stars  of  thought, 
Only  when  we  live  above 

What  the  dim-eyed  world  hath  taught; 

Only  when  our  souls  are  fed 

By  the  fount  which  gave  them  birth, 
And  by  inspiration  led 

Which  they  never  drew  from  earth  ; 

We,  like  parted  drops  of  rain, 
Swelling  till  they  meet  and  run, 

Shall  be  all  absorbed  again, 
Melting,  flowing  into  one. 


(33) 


LIZZFE    DOTEN. 

"A  respectable  lie,  sir  !     Pray  what  do  you  mean  ? 
Why  the  term  in  ifsetfis  a  pl.iin  contradiction. 
A  lie  is  a  lie,  and  deserves  no  respect, 
But  merciless  judgment,  and  speedy  conviction. 
It  springs  from  corruption,  is  servile  and  mean, 
An  evil  conception,  a  coward's  invention, 


A    RESPECTABLE    LIE. 

And  whether  direct,  or  but  simply  implied, 

Has  naught  but  deceit  for  its  end  and  intention." 

Ah,  yes  !  very  well  !  So  good  morals  would  teach  ; 

But  fads  are  the  most  stubborn  things  in  existence, 

And  they  tend  to  show  that  great  lies  win  respect, 

And  hold  their  position  with  wondrous  persistence. 

The  small  lies,  the  white  lies,  the  lies  feebly  told, 

The  world  will  condemn  both  in  spirit  and  letter  ; 

But  the  great  bloated  lies  will  be  held  in  respect, 

And  the  l(tr;/er  and  older  a  lie  is,  the  better. 

A  respectable  lie,  from  a  popular  man, 

On  a  popular  theme,  never  taxes  endurance; 

And  the  pure  golden  coin  of  unpopular  truth, 

Is  often  refused  for  the  Jtrass  of  assurance. 

You  may  dare  all  the  laws  of  the  land  to  defy, 

And  hare  t<>  the  truth  the  most  shameless  relation, 

But  never  attack  a  respectable  lie, 

\  f  you  value  a  name,  or  a  good  reputation. 

A  li<;  well  established,  and  hoary  with  age, 

I.Vsists  I  lie  assaults  of  the  boldest  seceder  ; 

While  he  is  accounted  the  greatest  of  saints, 

Who  silences  reason  and  follows  the  leader. 

Whenever  a  mortal  has  ilnml  to  be  wise, 

And  sci/.e  upon  Truth,  as  tin-  soul's  "  Magna  ("harta," 

lie  al\v:iys  ii.-is  won  from  the  lover  of  lies, 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

The  name  of  a  fool,  or  the  fate  of  a  martyr. 

There  are  popular  lies,  and  political  lies, 

And  "lies  that  stick  fast  between  buying  and  selling," 

And  lies  of  politeness  —  conventional  lies  — 

(Which  scarcely  are  reckoned  as  such  in  the  telling). 

There  are  lies  of  sheer  malice,  and  slanderous  lies, 

From  those  who  delight  to  peck  filth  like  a  pigeon  ; 

But  the  oldest  and  far  most  respectable  lies, 

Are  those  that  are  told  in  the  name  of  Religion. 

Theology  sits  like  a  tyrant  enthroned, 

A  system  per  se  with  a  fixed  nomenclature, 

Derived  from  strange  doctrines,  and  dogmas,  and 

creeds, 
At  war  with  man's  reason,  with  God  and  with 

Nature  ; 

And  he  who  subscribes  to  a  popular  myth, 
Never  questions  the  fact  of  divine  inspiration, 
But  holds  to  the  Bible  as  absolute  truth, 
From  Genesis,  through  to  St.  John's  Revelation. 
We  mock  at  the  Catholic  bigots  at  Rome 
Who  strive  with  their  dogmas  man's  reason  to  fetter  ; 
But  we  turn  to  the  Protestant  bigots  at  home, 
And  we  find  that  their  dogmas  are  scarce  a  whit 

better. 

We  are  called  to  believe  in  the  wrath  of  the  Lord  — 
In  endless  damnation,  and  torments  infernal ; 


A    RESPECTABLE    LIE. 

While  around  and  above  us,  the  Infinite  Truth, 
Scarce  heeded  or  heard,  speaks  sublime  and  eternal. 
Jt  is  sad  —  but  the  day-star  is  shining  on  high, 
And  Science  comes  in  with  her  conquering  legions  ; 
And  every  respectable,  time-honored  lie. 
Will  fly  from  her  face  to  the  mythical  regions. 
The  soul  shall  no  longer  with  terror  behold 
The  red  waves  of  wrath  that  leap  up  to  engulf  her. 
For  Science  ignores  the  existence  of  hell 
And  Chemistry  finds  better  uses  for  sulphur. 
We  may  dare  to  repose  in  the  beautiful  hope 
That  an  Infinite  Life  is  the  source  of  all  being  ; 
And  though  we  must  strive  with  delusion  and  Death, 
We  can  trust  to  a  love  and  a  wisdom  all-seeing  ; 
We  may  dare  in  the  strength  of  the  soul  to  arise, 
And  walk  where  our  feet  shall  not  stumble  or  falter; 
And,  freed  from  the  bondage  of  time-honored  lies, 
To  lay  all  we  have  on  Truth's  sacred  altar. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

(34) 

tmrnX  (One. 

MOODY    CURRIER. 

Oh,  tell  me,  man  of  sacred  lore, 
Where  dwells  the  Being  you  adore  ? 
And  where,  oh  man  of  thought  profound. 
Where  can  the  Eternal  One  be  found  ? 
Throughout  the  realms  of  boundless  space 
We  seek  in  vain  his  dwelling  place. 

He  dwells  where'er  the  beams  of  light 
Have  pierced  the  primal  gloom  of  night  ; 
Beyond  the  planet's  feeble  ray  ; 
Beyond  the  comet's  devious  way  ; 
Where'er  amid  the  realms  afar 
Shines  light  of  sun  or  twinkling  star. 
Above,  below,  and  all  around, 
Th'  encircling  arms  of  God  are  found. 
Where'er  the  pulse  of  life  may  beat 
His  forming  hand  and  power  we  meet. 
While  every  living  germ  of  earth 
That  sinks  in  death  or  springs  to  birth 
Is  but  a  part  of  that  great  whole. 
Whose  life  is  God,  and  God  the  soul. 


THE    ETERNAL    ONE. 

From  plant  to  man,  below,  above, 

The  power  divine  still  throbs  in  love. 

He  is  the  life  that  glows  and  warms 

In  tiniest  mote  of  living  forms, 

Which  quick'ning  nature  bring  to  birth, 

To  float  in  air,  or  sink  in  earth  ; 

And  every  shrub,  and  plant,  and  flower, 

That  lives  an  age,  or  blooms  an  hour, 

Has  just  as  much  of  God  within 

As  human  life,  or  seraphim  : 

For  all  that  bloom,  and  all  that  shine, 

Are  only  forms  of  life  divine  ; 

And  every  ray  that  streaks  the  east, 

And  every  beam  that  paints  the  west, 

With  every  trembling  gleam  of  light, 

With  every  gloom  that  shades  the  night, 

Are  but  the  trailing  robes  divine 

Of  one  whose  garments  ever  shine. 

The  human  soul  may  bend  in  love 

And  seek  for  blessings  from  above, 

As  well  in  busy  haunts  of  men, 

In  forest  gloom,  in  silent  glen, 

As  in  the  altar's  solemn  shade, 

Bunejith  the  domes  that  men  have  made; 

As  well  may  seek  a  Father's  love, 

Ami  ask  assistance  from  above, 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Amid  the  ocean's  solemn  roar, 
Or  on  its  barren  waste  of  shore, 
As  in  some  distant  promised  land, 
Where  sacred  fanes  and  temples  stand. 
The  soul  that  beats  in  sweet  attune 
Finds  in  itself  the  Eternal  One, 
Nor  needs  to  seek  for  other  shrine 
Than  God's  great  temples  all  divine. 


(35) 

ttxat  !l0jcfes  tfeu  OTvadU." 

S.     B. M.    F.    B.    F. 

They  say  that  man  is  mighty, 

He  governs  land  and  sea, 
He  wields  a  mighty  sceptre 

O'er  lesser  powers  that  be  ; 
But  a  power  mightier,  stronger, 

Man  from  his  throne  has  hurled, 
"  For  the  hand  that  rocks  the  cradle 

Is  the  hand  that  rules  the  world." 

In  deep,  mysterious  conclave, 
'Mid  philosophic  minds, 


''THE    HAND    THAT    ROCKS    THE    CRADLE." 

Unraveling  knotty  problems, 
His  native  forte,  man  finds  ; 

Yet  all  his  "ics"  and  "isms" 

To  heaven's  four  winds  are  hurled, 

"  For  the  hand  that  rocks  the  cradle 
Is  the  hand  that  rules  the  world." 

Behold  the  brave  commander, 

Stanch  'mid  the  carnage  stand, 
Behold  the  guidon  dying, 

With  the  colors  in  his  hand. 
Brave  men  they  be,  yet  craven, 

When  this  banner  is  unfurled, 
"The  hand  that  rocks  the  cradle 

Is  the  hand  that  rules  the  world." 

Great  statesmen  govern  nations, 

Kings  mold  a  people's  fate, 
Hut  the  unseen  hand  of  velvet 

Tnese  giants  regulate. 
The  iron  arm  of  fortune 

With  woman's  charm  is  purled, 
"  For  the  hand  that  rocks  the  cradle 

Is  tlm  hand  that  rules  the  world." 

8 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

(36) 

is  QQ  gcath. 

LORD    LYTTON. 

There  is  no  death  !  The  stars  go  down 
To  rise  upon  some  fairer  shore  : 

And  bright  in  Heaven's  jeweled  crown 
They  shine  forevermore. 

There  is  no  death  !  The  dust  we  tread 
Shall  change  beneath  the  summer  showers 

To  golden  grain  or  mellowed  fruit, 
Or  rainbow-tinted  flowers. 

The  granite  rocks  disorganize, 

And  feed  the  hungry  moss  they  bear  ; 

The  forest  leaves  drink  daily  life, 
From  out  the  viewless  air. 

There  is  no  death  !     The  leaves  may  fall, 
And  flowers  may  fade  and  pass  away  ; 

They  only  wait  through  wintry  hours, 
The  coming  of  the  May. 

There  is  no  death  !     An  Angel  form 
Walks  o'er  the  earth  with  silent  tread  ; 

He  bears  our  best  loved  things  away  ;. 
And  then  we  call  them  "  dead.'' 


THERE    IS    NO    DEATIL 

He  leaves  our  hearts  all  desolate, 

He  plucks  our  fairest,  sweetest  flowers  ; 

Transplanted  into  bliss,  they  now 
Adorn  immortal  bowers. 

The  bird-like  voice,  whose  joyous  tones, 
Made  glad  these  scenes  of  sin  and  strife, 

Sings  now  an  everlasting  song, 
Around  the  tree  of  life. 

Where'er  he  sees  a  smile  too  bright, 
Or  heart  too  pure  for  taint  and  vice, 

He  bears  it  to  that  world  of  light, 
To  dwell  in  Paradise. 

Born  unto  that  undying  life, 

They  leave  us  but  to  come  again  ; 

With  joy  we  welcome  them  the  same,  — 
Except  their  sin  and  pain. 

And  ever  near  us,  though  unseen, 
The  dear  immortal  spirits  tread  ; 

K"or  all  the  boundless  universe 
Is  life  —  there  are  no  dead. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 


(37) 


[As  a  tribute  of  love  to  his  many  friends,  these  lines  are  sent  out 
through  the  mediumshlp  of  Mrs.  K.  R.  Stiles,  under  the  inspi 

ration  Of  SPIRIT  I.  P.  GREENLEAF.] 

At  length,  through  Nature's  law,  my  soul  is  free, 
Thou  earnest  not  unbidden,  Death,  to  me  ; 
No  '-King  of  Terrors,"  nor  with  visage  grim, 
But  as  a  mother,  singing  a  sweet  hymn. 

I  waited  for  thee  as  one  waits  a  guest  ; 

For  I  was  weary,  and  I  longed  for  rest  ; 

At  last  so  gently  didst  thou  come,  oh  !  Death, 

Scarce  did  I  know  when  thou  didst  claim  my  breath. 

1  followed  thee,  and  thou  didst  lead  me  where 
The  breath  of  flowers  perfumed  the  summer  air  ; 
Their  fragrance  soothed  me  like  a  healing  balm, 
While  o'er  my  senses  stole  a  heavenly  calm. 

As  in  a  dream  I  heard  the  glad  refrain 

Of  low,  soft  voices,  singing  "  Home  again  !  " 

I  turned  to  see  from  whence  the  sweet  sound  came, 

And  as  I  turned,  lo  !  some  one  spoke  my  name. 


THE    RELEASE. 

It  \\ns  my  mother's  voice  —  I  knew  it  well  — 
It  fell  upon  my  ear  with  magic  spell  : 
"  Mother !"  I  cried,  and  at  that  single  word 
All  the  deep  fountains  of  my  life  were  stirred. 

Jn  tender  tones  she  said :  "  My  darling  son  ! 
Fought  is  the  weary  fight,  the  victory  won  ; 
Thou  hast  been  faithful  and  thou  shalt  be  blest  : 
Yonder  behold  thy  home  —  enter,  and  rest." 

Scarce  could  I  speak,  so  great  was  my  surprise, 

But  as  I  looked  I  saw  before  me  rise, 

As  by  some  magic  power,  a  mansion  fair  : 

"  Enter,"  my  mother  said,  "and  rest  thee  there." 

I  passed,  and  lo  !  the  beauteous  sight 

Filled  all  my  being  with  intense  delight  ; 

Here  Nature  spread  her  charms,  and  Art  combined 

To  form  a  pleasing  picture  for  the  mind. 

"  Now  rest  thee  here  awhile,"  my  mother  said, 
The  while  with  tender  touch  she  stroked  my  head, 
'T  was  sweet  to  lie  thus  pillowed  on  her  breast  ; 
No  thought  had  I,  but  Mother,  Home,  and  Rest. 
8* 


SEVEN    DOZEN   OEMS. 

How  long  I  know  not  there  in  sleep  I  lay, 
When  to  my  ear  there  came  from  far  away 
A  sound  of  sorrow,  like  a  sigh  or  moan, 
And  words  low-whispered,  in  a  broken  tone  : 

"  He  rests  at  length,"  I  heard  a  soft  voice  say  ; 
And  then  I  watched  them  robe  the  lifeless  clay  — 
Watched  as  one  watches  ofttimes  in  a  sleep, 
Scarce  knowing  if  't  were  best  to  smile  or  weep. 

At  length  I  woke  to  perfect  consciousness  ; 
Awoke  to  feel  my  mother's  fond  caress  ; 
Awoke  to  find  that  the  long  night  was  o'er, 
And  that  life,  health,  and  strength,  were  mine  once 
more. 

Farewell,  old  body  !  house  of  clay,  farewell ! 
Apart  from  thee  my  spirit  now  rhust  dwell ; 
Yet  would  1  linger  for  the  moment  near 
To  give  to  thee  the  tribute  of  a  tear. 

'T  was  through  thy  windows  that  my  soul  did  view 
The  outer  world,  and  faces  fond  and  true  ; 
But  I  shall  look  through  them  no  more  —  no  more  ! 
For  they  are  barred,  and  bolted  is  thy  door. 


THE    CHILDREN. 

So  fare  thee  well,  old  house  of  clay,  farewell 
What  fate  awaits  thee  time  alone  can  tell. 
For  me  the  present  thought  is  that  I  live  ; 
And  whatsoe'er  the  future  hath  to  give, 

I  will  accept  with  thankful,  trusting  heart, 
Asking  but  this :  That  I  may  still  bear  part 
In  deeds  of  love  to  thwart  each  human  ill  — 
Of  earth's  great  family  be  member  still  ! 
WORCESTER,   MASS.,  Aug.  14,  1884. 


(38) 

'I' he 

BY    RICHARD    REALF. 

Do  you  love  me,  little  children  ? 

Oh  sweet  blossoms  that  are  curled 
(Life's  tender  morning-glories) 

Round  the  casement  of  the  world  ! 
Do  your  hearts  climb  up  toward  me 

As  my  own  heart  bends  to  you, 
In  the;  beauty  of  your  dawning 

And  the  brightness  of  your  dew? 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

When  the  fragrance  of  your  faces, 

And  the  rhythm  of  your  feet, 
And  the  incense  of  your  voices 

Transform  the  sullen  street. 
Do  you  see  my  soul  move  softly 

Forever  where  you  move, 
With  an  eye  of  benediction 

And  a  guardian  hand  of  love? 

Oh,  my  darlings,  I  am  with  you 

In  your  trouble,  in  your  play, 
In  your  sobbing  and  your  singing, 

In  your  dark  and  in  your  day, 
In  the  chambers  where  you  nestle, 

In  the  hovels  where  you  lie, 
In  the  sunlight  where  you  blossom, 

And  the  blackness  where  you  die. 

Not  a  blessing  broods  above  you 

But  it  lifts  me  from  the  ground  ; 
Not  a  thistle  barb  doth  sting  you 

But  I  suffer  with  the  wound  ; 
And  a  chord  within  me  trembles 

To  your  slightest  touch  or  tone, 
And  I  famish  when  you  hunger, 

And  I  shiver  when  you  moan. 


THE    CHILDREN. 

Can  you  tell  me,  little  children, 

Why  is  it  I  love  you  so  ? 
Why  I'm  weary  with  the  burdens 

Of  my  sad  and  weary  woe  ? 
Do  the  myrtle  and  the  aloes 

Spring  blithely  from  one  tree  ? 
Yet,  1  love  you,  oh,  my  darlings  ! 

Have  you  any  flowers  for  me  ? 

I  have  trodden  all  the  spaces 

Of  my  solemn  years  alone, 
And  have  never  felt  the  cooing 

Of  a  babe's  breath  near  my  own. 
But  with  more  than  father  passion, 

And  with  more  than  mother  pain, 
I  have  loved  you,  little  children  — 

Do  you  love  me  back  again  ? 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 


(39) 


[A  ]X)em  written  by  Col.  Realf  on  the  day  previous  to  his  death.]* 
"  De  mortuis  nil  nisi  bonum."     When 

For  me  the  end  has  come,  and  1  am  dead, 
And  little  voluble,  chattering  daws  of  men 

Peck  at  me  curiously,  let  it  then  be  said 
By  some  one  brave  enough  to  speak  the  truth, 

Here  lies  a  great  soul  killed  by  cruel  wrong. 
Down  all  the  balmy  days  of  his  fresh  youth 

To  his  bleak,  desolate  noon,  with  sword  and  song, 
And  speech  that  rushed  up  hotly  from  the  heart, 

He  wrought  for  liberty  ;  till  his  own  wound, 
(He  had  been  stabbed)  concealed  with  painful  art 

Through    wasting   years,    mastered   him,    and    he 

swooned, 

And  sank  there  where  you  see  him  lying  now, 
With  that  word  "  Failure  "  written  on  his  brow. 

But  say  that  he  succeeded.     If  he  missed 

World's  honors  and  world's  plaudits,  and  the  wage 

Of  the  world's  deft  lackeys,  still  his  lips  were  kissed 
Daily  by  those  high  angels  who  assuage 

The  thirstings  of  the  poets  —  for  he  was 
Born  unto  singing  —  and  a  burden  lay 


A    POET  S    DEATH    SONG. 

Mightily  on  him,  and  he  moaned  because 
He  could  not  rightly  utter  to  this  day 

What  God  taught  in  the  night.     Sometimes,  nathless 
Power  fell  upon  him,  and  bright  tongues  of  flame, 

And  blessings  reached  him  from  poor  souls  in  stress; 
And  benedictions  from  black  pits  of  shame  ; 

And  little  children's  love  ;  and  old  men's  prayers  ; 

And  a  Great  Hand  that  led  him  unawares. 

So  ho  died  rich.      And  if  his  eyes  were  blurred 

With  thick  films  —  silence  !  he  is  in  his  grave. 
(I  really  ho  suffered  ;  greatly,  too,  he  erred  ; 

Yet  broke  his  heart  in  trying  to  be  brave. 
Nor  did  he  wait  till  freedom  had  become 

The  popular  shibboleth  of  courtiers'  lips; 
Hut  smote  for  her  when  God  himself  seemed  dumb, 

And  all  his  arching  skies  were  in  eclipse, 
lie  WHS  a-woary,  but  he  fought  his  fight, 

And  stood  for  simple  manhood  ;  and  was  joyed 
To  sec  the  august  broadening  of  the  light, 

A  ml  new  earths  heaving  heavenward  from  the  void. 
He  loved  his  fellows,  and  their  love  was  sweet  — 
Plant  daisies  at  his  head  and  at  his  feet. 


*S\s  I-'KANCI-O,  <)ci.  -.".I'll.      Cul.  i;;i-li:inl  licalf  committed  suicide  at 
tin1   Wimlcnr  House.  O;ikl:iinl,  l;i*t    ni.u'ht,  liy  the  uwof  morphine      ])c- 
i  CMIUC  In Tr   ico'iitlv   from   Pit i >>l)Mr'_r.  mid   took  a  position  in  a 
minr.    The  sim-iik'  is  attributed  l<>  ill  ht-altli  and  domestic  (litliniltieo. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 


(40) 


We  see  but  half  the  causes  of  our  deeds, 
Seeking  them  wholly  in  the  outer  life, 
And  heedless  of  the  encircling  spirit  world, 
Which,  though  unseen,  is  felt,  and  sows  in  us 
All  germs  of  pure  and  ivorld-  wide  purposes. 
From  one  stage  of  our  being,  to  the  next, 
We  pass  unconscious  on  a  slender  bridge, 
The  momentary  work  of  unseen  hands, 
Which  crumbles  down  behind  us;  looking  back 
We  see  the  other  shore,  the  gulf  between, 
And,  marveling  how  we  won  to  where  we  stand, 
Content  ourselves  to  call  the  builder  —  Chance. 

No  man  is  born  into  the  world,  whose  work 

Is  not  born  with  him;  there  is  always  work, 

And  tools  to  work  withal,  for  those  who  will; 

And  blessed  are  the  horny  hands  of  toil  ! 

The  busy  world  shoves  angrily  aside 

The  man  who  stands  with  arms  akimbo  set, 

Until  occasion  tells  him  what  to  do; 

And  he  who  waits  to  have  his  task  marked  out 

Shall  die  and  leave  his  errand  unfulfilled. 


A    GLANCE    BEHIND    THE    CURTAIN. 

Our  time  is  one  that  calls  for  honest  deeds: 

Reason  and  Government,  like  two  broad  seas, 

Yearn  for  each  other  with  outstretched  arms 

Across  this  narrow  isthmus  of  the  throne, 

And  roll  their  white  surf  higher  every  day. 

One  age  moves  onward,  and  the  next  builds  up 

Cities  and  gorgeous  palaces,  where  stood 

The  rude  log  huts  of  these  who  tamed  the  wild, 

Rearing  from  out  the  forests  they  had  felled 

The  goodly  framework  of  a  fairer  state: 

The  builder's  trowel  and  the  settler's  axe 

Are  seldom  wielded  by  the  self  -same  hand  : 

Ours  is  the  harder  task,  yet  not  the  less 

Shall  we  receive  the  blessing  for  our  toil 

From  the  choice  spirits  of  the  after  time. 

My  soul  is  not  a  palace  of  the  past 

Where  outworn  creeds,  like  Rome's  gray  senate, 

Quake,  hearing  afar  the  Vandals'  trumpets  hoarse, 

Then  shakes  old  systems  with  .a  thunder  fit. 


Truth  is  ••firiHi!.  but  her  effluence, 

With  endless  change,  is  litu-d  to  the  hour; 
Her  mirror  is  turned  forward  t<>  relleet 
The  promise  of  t  he  fut  ///•••,  n»l  the  jmxi. 
lie  who  would  win  the  name  of  truly  great 
•J 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Must  understand  his  own  age  and  the  next, 

And  make  the  present  ready  to  fulfill 

Its  prophecy,  and  with  the  future,  merge 

Gently  and  peacefully,  as  wave  with  wave. 

The  future  works  out  great  men's  destinies; 

The  present  is  enough  for  common  souls, 

Who,  never  looking  forward,  are  indeed 

Mere  clay,  wherein  the  footprints  of  their  age 

Are  petrified  forever  !  better  those 

Who  lead  the  blind  old  giant  by  the  hand 

From  out  the  pathless  desert  where  he  gropes, 

And  set  him  onward  in  his  darksome  way. 

I  do  not  fear  to  follow  out  the  truth, 

Albeit  along  the  precipice's  edge. 

Let  us  speak  plain:  there  is  more 

Force  in  names  than  most  men  dream  of: 

And  a  lie  may  keep  its  throne  a  whole  age  longer, 

If  it  skulk  behind  the  shield  of  some/<nV  seeming  name. 

Let  us  call  tyrants  tyrants,  and  maintain 

That  only  freedom  comes  by  grace  of  Nature, 

All  that  comes  not  by  her  grace  must  fall; 

For  men  in  earnest  have  no  time  to  waste 

In  patching  fig  leaves  for  the  naked  truth. 

—  Lowell. 


'•(I    MAY     1    .!(>I\    TIIK    CHOIR    INVISIBLE. 
(41) 

CO  IflUui  %  $0ht  tlxc  (Their 

8.  B.  -  E.  S.  B. 


ill  ad  titnpiix,  qnum  nan  era   ' 
magi*  me  nutn-t,  ijuam  line  i.riyw/m." 

—  Cicero,  ad  Alt.,  XII.  18. 

0  may  I  join  the  choir  invisible 

Of  those  immortal  dead  who  live  again 

In  minds  made  better  by  their  presence. 

Live 

In  pulses  stirred  to  generosity, 
In  deeds  of  daring  rectitude,  in  scorn 
For  miserable  aims  that  end  with  self, 
In  thoughts  sublime  that  pierce  the  night  like  stars, 
And  with  their  mild  persistence  urge  man's  search 
To  vaster  issues. 

So  to  live  is  heaven: 
To  make  undying  music  in  the  world, 
Hninthiiiir  as  beauteous  order  that  controls 
With  growing  sway  the  growing  life  of  man. 
So  we  inherit  that  sweet  purity 
Km-  which  we  struggled,  failed,  and  agonized 
With  widening  retrospect  that  bred  despair. 
Rebellious  flesh  that  would  not  be  subdued, 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

A  vicious  parent  shaming  still  its  child 
Poor  anxious  penitence,  is  quick  dissolved; 
Its  discords,  quenched  by  meeting  harmonies, 
Die  in  the  large  and  charitable  air, 
And  all  our  rarer,  better,  true  self, 
That  sobbed  religiously  in  yearning  song. 
That  watched  to  ease  the  burthen  of  the  world, 
Laboriously  tracing  what  must  be, 
And  what  may  yet  be  better  —  saw  within 
A  worthier  image  for  the  sanctuary, 
And  shaped  it  forth  before  the  multitude 
Divinely  human  raising  worship  so 
To  higher  reverence  more  mixed  with  love  — 
That  better  self  shall  live  till  human  Time 
Shall  fold  its  eyelids,  and  the  human  sky 
Be  gathered  like  a  scroll  within  the  tomb 
Unread  forever. 

This  is  life  to  come, 

Which  martyred  men  have  made  more  glorious 
For  us  who  strive  to  follow.   May  I  reach 
That  purest  heaven,  be  to  other  souls 
The  cup  of  strength  in  some  great  agony, 
Enkindle  generous  ardor,  feed  pure  love, 
Beget  the  smiles  that  have  no  cruelty  — 
Be  the  sweet  presence  of  a  good  diffused, 


TIIK    SPIRIT-MOTHER. 


And  in  diffusion  ever  more  intense, 

So  shall  I  join  the  choir  invisible 

Whose  music  is  the  gladness  of  the  world. 

—  George  Eliot,  1867. 


(42) 

gttc  ^piv 

8.  B.  8.  R. N.  A.  G.  C. 

Through  our  lives'  mysterious  changes, 

Through  the  sorrow-haunted  years, 
Runs  a  law  of  compensation 

For  our  sufferings  and  our  tears. 
And  the  soul  that  reasons  rightly, 

All  its  sad  complaining  stills, 
Till  it  learns  that  meek  submission, 

Where  it  wishes  not  nor  wills. 

Thus,  in  Sorrow's  fiery  furnace 
Was  a  faithful  mother  tried, 

Till,  through  Love's  divinest  uses, 
All  her  soul  was  purifi<-»l. 

<  >  vc  sorrow-stricken  mothers ! 

Ye  whose  weakness  feeds  your  pain  ! 

1  -isten  to  her  simple  story  — 

Listen  !   and  be  strong  .-igaii:. 
9* 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

"It  was  sunset  —  and  the  day-dream 

Of  my  life  was  almost  o'er; 
For  my  spirit-bark  was  drifting 

Slowly,  slowly  from  the  shore. 
Dimly  could  I  see  the  sunlight 

Through  my  vine-wreathed  window  shine, 
Faintly  could  I  feel  the  pressure 

Of  a  strong  hand  clasping  mine. 

"  But  anew  the  life-tide  started, 

At  my  infant's  feeble  cry  ; 
Back  my  spirit  turned  in  anguish, 

And  I  felt  I  could  not  die. 
Deeper,  darker  fell  the  shadows, 

Like  the  midnight's  sable  pall, 
And  that  infant  cry  grew  fainter  — 

Fainter  —  fainter  —  that  was  all  ! 

"  Suddenly  I  heard  sweet  voices 

Mingling  in  a  tender  strain  — 
All  my  mortal  weakness  left  me, 

All  my  anguish  and  my  pain. 
On  my  forehead  fell  in  glory 

Of  the  bright,  celestial  morn, 
I  was  of  the  earth  no  longer, 

For  my  spirit  was  re-born. 


THE    SPIRIT-MOTHER. 

"  Pure,  sweet  faces  bent  above  me, 

Tenderly  they  gazed  and  smiled, 
And  my  Angel-Mother  whispered, 

'  Welcome,  welcome  home,  my  child  ! ' 
Then,  in  one  melodious  chorus, 

Sang  the  radiant  angel  band, 
'  Welcome  !  0  thou  weary  pilgrim  ! 

Welcome  to  the  Spirit  Land  ! ' 

"  But,  o'er  all  those  glad  rejoicings, 

Rose  again  my  infant's  cry, 
For  my  heart  had  borne  the  echo 

Through  the  portals  of  the  sky. 
And  I  murmured,  '  U  ye  bright  ones  ! 

Still  my  earthly  home  is  dear  ; 
Vain  are  all  your  songs  of  welcome, 

Kt»r  I  am  not  happy  here. 

"'Strike  your  harps,  ye  white-robed  angels! 

Hut  your  music  makes  me  wild, 
For  my  heart  is  with  my  treasure, 

Heaven  is  only  with  my  child  ! 
Let  me  go,  and  whisper  comfort 

To  my  little  mourning  dove  — 
Life  is  cold;    0,  let  me  shield  him 

With  a  mother's  tenderest  love ! ' 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

"  Swift  there  came  a  pure,  white  angel, 

Through  the  glory,  shining  far, 
In  her  hand  she  bore  a  lily, 

On  her  forehead  beamed  a  star, 
Very  beautiful  and  tender 

Was  the  love-light  in  her  eyes, 
Like  the  sunny  smile  of  summer 

Beaming  in  the  azure  skies. 

"  And  she  said,  '  0,  mourning  sister  ! 

Lo  !  thy  prayer  of  love  is  heard, 
For  the  boundless  Heart  of  Being 

By  thine  earnest  cry  is  stirred. 
Heaven  is  life's  divinest  freedom, 

And  no  mandate  bids  thee  stay ; 
Go,  and  as  a  star  of  duty, 

Guide  thy  loved  one  on  his  way. 

"  '  Life  is  full  of  holy  uses, 

If  but  rightly  understood, 
And  its  evils  and  abuses 

May  be  stepping-stones  to  good. 
Never  seek  to  weakly  shield  him, 

Or  his  destiny  control, 
For  the  wealth  that  grief  shall  yield  him, 

Is  the  birthright  of  his  soul.1 


THE    SPIRIT-MOTHER. 

"Musing  deeply  on  her  meaning, 

Turned  I  from  the  heavenly  shore, 
And  on  love's  swift  wings  descending. 

Sought  my  earthly  home  once  more. 
There  my  widowed,  childless  sister 

Sat  with  meek  and  quiet  grace, 
With  her  heart's  great  wasting  sorrow, 

W  ritten  on  her  pale  sweet  face. 

"  And  she  sang  in  dreamy  murmurs, 

Bending  o'er  my  Willie's  head, 
'  Hush,  my  dear,  lie  still  and  slumber, 

Holy  angels  guard  thy  bed,' 
Soft  I  whispered,  'Dearest  sister  — 

Darling  Willie  —  I  am  here,' 
Sweetly  smiled  the  sleeping  infant, 

And  the  singer  dropped  a  tear. 

"Thenceforth  was  my  soul  united 

To  that  life  more  dear  than  mine; 
And  I  prayed  for  strength  to  guide  me, 

From  the  source  of  Life  Divine. 
Slowly  did  I  see  the  meaning 

In  life's  purposes  concealed  — 
All  the  uses  of  temptation, 

Sin  and  sorrow,  stood  revealed. 


SEVEN    DOZEN   GEMS. 

"  Through  my  loved  one's  youth  and  manhood, 

In  the  hour  of  sinful  strife, 
I  could  see  the  nobler  issues, 

And  the  grand  design  of  life. 
I  could  see  that  he  was  guided 

By  a  mightier  hand  than  mine, 
And  a  mother's  love  was  weakness 

By  the  side  of  Love  Divine. 

"Then  I  did  not  seek  to  shield  him, 

Or  his  destiny  control  — 
Life,  with  all  its  varied  changes, 

Was  the  teacher  of  his  soul. 
Nay,  I  did  not  strive  to  alter 

What  I  could  not  make  nor  mend, 
For  the  love  so  full  of  wisdom, 

Could  be  trusted  to  the  end. 

"  I  could  not  give  him  strength  and  courage 

From  the  treasures  of  my  love  — 
I  could  lead  his  aspirations 

To  the  holy  heart  above; 
I  could  warn  him  in  temptation, 

That  he  might  not  blindly  fall;  - 
I  could  wait  with  faith  and  patience 

For  his  triumph  —  that  was  all. 


THE    SPIRIT-MOTIIER. 

"Mid  the  rush  and  roar  of  battle, 

In  the  carnival  of  death, 
When  the  air  grew  hot  and  heavy, 

With  the  cannon's  fiery  breath, 
First  and  foremost  with  the  bravest, 

Who  bad  heard  their  country's  call, 
With  the  stars  and  stripes  above  him, 

Did  my  darling  Willie  fall. 

"  Onward  — onward  rushed  his  comrades, 

With  a  wild,  defiant  cry, 
As  they  charged  upon  the  foeman, 

Leaving  him  alone  to  die. 
Faint  he  murmured,  '0,  my  mother ! 

Angel-mother  !  art  thou  near  ? ' 
And  he  caught  the  whispered  answer, 

'Darling  Willie,  I  am  here! 

"  '  O,  my  loved  one  !  my  true-hearted  ! 

Soon  your  anguish  will  be  o'er; 
Then,  in  heaven's  eternal  sunshine, 

We  shall  dwell  for  evermore.' 
Swiftly  o'er  his  pallid  features, 

Gleams  <>!'  heavenly  brightness  passed, 
And  my  NVillir's  noble  spirit 

Met  me  face  to  face  at  last. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    OEMS. 

"  In  a  soldier's  grave  they  laid  him, 

Underneath  the  sheltering  pines, 
Where  the  breezes  made  sweet  music, 

Through  the  gently  swaying  vines. 
Now  in  heaven  our  souls  united, 

All  their  aspirations  blend 
And  my  spirit's  holy  mission 

Thus  hath  found  a  joyful  end." 

Through  our  lives  mysterious  changes, 

Through  the  sorrow-haunted  years 
Runs  a  law  of  Compensation 

For  our  sufferings  and  our  tears ; 
And  the  soul  that  reasons  rightly, 

All  its  sad  complaining  stills, 
Till  it  gains  that  calm  condition, 

Where  it  wishes  not,  nor  wills. 


HAUNTED    HOUSES. 


(43) 


All  houses,  in  which  men  have  lived  and  died, 
Are  haunted  houses.  Through  the  open  doors 

The  harmless  phantoms  on  their  errands  glide, 
With  feet  that  make  no  sound  upon  the  floors. 

We  meet  them  at  the  door-way,  on  the  stair, 
Along  the  passages  they  come  and  go, 

Impalpable  impressions  on  the  air, 

A  sense  of  something  moving  to  and  fro. 

There  are  more  guests  at  table,  than  the  hosts 

Invited  ;  the  illuminated  hall 
Is  thronged  with  quiet,  inoffensive  ghosts, 

As  silent  as  the  pictures  on  the  wall. 

The  stranger  at  my  fire-side  cannot  see 

The  forms  1  see,  nor  hear  the  sounds  I  hear  ; 

He  but  perceives  what  is;  while  unto  me 
All  that  has  been,  is  visible  and  clear. 

We  have  no  title  deeds  to  house  or  lands  ; 

Owners  and  occupants  of  earlier  dates 
From  graves  forgotten  stretch  their  dusty  hands, 

And  hold  in  mortmain  still,  their  old  estates. 

10 


SEVEN   DOZEN    GEMS. 

The  spirit-world,  around  this  world  of  sense, 
Floats  like  an  atmosphere,  and  everywhere 

Wafts  through  these  earthly  mists  and  vapors  dense, 
A  vital  breath  of  more  ethereal  air. 

Our  little  lives  are  kept  in  equipoise 

By  opposite  attractions  and  desires  ; 
The  struggle  of  the  instinct  that  enjoys. 

And  the  more  noble  instinct  that  aspires. 

These  perturbations,  this  perpetual  jar 
Of  earthly  wants  and  aspirations  high, 

Come  from  the  influence  of  an  unseen  star, 
An  undiscovered  planet  in  our  sky. 

And,  as  the  moon  from  some  dark  gate  of  cloud, 
Throws,  o'er  the  sea,  a  floating  bridge  of  light, 

Across  whose  trembling  planks  our  fancies  crowd 
Into  the  realm  of  mystery  and  night, — 

So,  from  the  world  of  spirits,  there  descends 
A  bridge  of  light,  connecting  it  with  this, 
O'er  whose  unsteady  floor,  that  sways  and  bends, 

Wander  our  thoughts  above  the  dark  abyss. 

/ 
—  Longfellow. 


NEARER    TO    THEE. 


(44) 

to 


The  following  Poem  was  given  at  the  conclusion  of  a  lecture  on  "The 
Present  Condition  of  Theodore  Parker  in  Spirit-Life." 

"  Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee, 
Nearer  to  Thee  !  "  —  Parker's  Favorite  Hymn. 

Yes,  I  am  nearer  Thee  !  for  flesh  and  sense 
Have  been  exchanged  for  an  eternal  youth; 

My  spirit  hath  been  born  anew,  and  hence 
I  worship  Thee  "in  spirit  and  in  truth." 

Yes,  I  am  nearer  Thee  !  Though  still  unseen, 
Thy  presence  fills  my  life's  diviner  part. 

Now  that  no  earthly  shadows  intervene, 
I  feel  the  deeper  sense  of  what  Thou  art. 

Yes,  I  am  nearer  Thee  !  Thy  boundless  love 
Fills  all  my  being  with  a  rich  increase, 

And  soft  descending,  like  a  heavenly  dove, 
I  feel  the  benediction  of  Thy  peace. 

Yes,  I  am  nearer  Thee  !  All  that  I  sought 
Of  Truth,  or  Wisdom,  or  Eternal  Right, 

Is  clearly  present  to  my  inmost  thought, 
Like  the  uprising  of  a  glorious  light. 


SEVEN   DOZEN   GEMS. 

Yes,  I  am  nearer  Thee  !   0,  calm  and  still, 
And  beautiful  and  blest  beyond  degree, 

Is  this  surrender  of  my  finite  will  — 
Is  this  absorption  of  my  soul  in  Thee. 

"  0  Thou  !  whom  men  call  God  and  know  no  more!  "" 
When  they  shall  leave  the  worship  of  the  Past, 

And  learn  to  love  Thee  rather  than  adore, 
All  souls  shall  draw  thus  near  to  Thee  at  last. 

— Doten* 


(45) 

in  tfte 


Flower  in  the  crannied  wall, 

I  pluck  you  out  of  the  crannies  ;  — 

Hold  you  here,  root  and  all,  in  my  hand, 
Little  flower  —  but  if  I  could  understand 

What  you  are,  root  and  all,  and  all  in  all, 
I  should  know  what  God  and  man  is. 

—  Tennyson^ 


HUMANITY. 

(40) 

Humanity. 

S.    B. F.    J.    S.    T. 

1  would  not  enter  on  my  list  of  friends 
(Though  graced  with  polished  manners  and 
Fine  sense,  yet  wanting  sensibility),  the  man 
Who  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  worm. 
An  inadvertent  step  may  crush  the  snail 
That  crawls  at  evening  in  the  public  path  ; 
But  he  that  has  humanity,  forewarned, 
Will  tread  aside,  and  let  the  reptile  live. 
The  creeping  vermin,  loathsome  to  the  sight, 
And  charged  perhaps  with  venom,  that  intrudes, 
A  visitor  unwelcome,  into  scenes, 
Sacred  to  neatness  and  repose,  the  alcove, 
The  chamber,  or  refectory,  may  die  ;  — 
A  necessary  act  incurs  no  blame. 
Not  so  when,  held  within  their  proper  bounds, 
And  guiltless  of  offense,  they  range  the  air, 
Or  take  their  pastime  in  the  spacious  fields; 
There,  they  are  privileged  ;  and  he,  that  hurts 
( )r  harms  them  there,  is  guilty  of  a  wrong, 
Disturbs  the  economy  of  Nature's  realm, 
Who,  when  she  formed,  designed  them  an  abode  ; 
10* 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

The  sum  is  this:  — if  man's  convenience, 
Health,  or  safety  interfere,  his  rights  and  claims 
Are  paramount,  and  must  extinguish  theirs. 
Else  they  are  all  — the  meanest  things  that  are,  — 
As  free  to  live,  and  to  enjoy  that  life, 
As  Nature  was  free  to  form  them  at  the  first, 
Who,  in  her  sovereign  wisdom,  made  them  all. 
Ye  therefore,  who  love  mercy,  teach  your  sons 
To  love  it  too.  —  Wm.  Cowper* 


S.    B. F.    J.    S.    T. 

True  Love  is  but  a  humble,  low-born  thing, 
And  hath  its  food  served  up  in  earthen  ware  ; 
It^is  a  thing  to  walk  with,  hand  in  hand, 
Thro'  the  every-dayness  of  this  work-day  world, 
Baring  its  tender  feet  to  every  roughness. 
Yet  letting  root  one  heart-beat  go  astray 
Prom  Beauty's  law  of  plainness  and  content  ; 
A  simple,  fireside  thing,  whose  quiet  smile 
Can  warm  earth's  poorest  hovel  to  a  home  ; 


LOVE. 

"Which,  when  our  autumn  cometh.  as  it  must, 

And  life  in  the  chill  wind  shivers  bare  and  leafless, 

Shall  still  be  blest  with  Indian-summer  youth 

In  bleak  November,  and,  with  thankful  heart, 

Smile  on  its  simple  stores  of  garnered  fruit 

As  full  of  sunshine  to  our  aged  eyes 

As  when  it  nursed  the  blossoms  of  our  spring. 

Such  is  true  love,  which  steals  into  the  heart 

With  feet  as  silent,  as  the  lightsome  dawn 

That  kisses  smooth  the  rough  brows  of  the  dark, 

And  hath  its  will  through  blissful  gentleness,  — 

Not  like  a  rocket,  which  with  savage  glare, 

Whirrs  suddenly  up,  then  bursts,  and  leaves  the  night 

Painfully  quivering  on  the  dazed  eyes  ; 

A  love  that  gives  and  takes,  that  seeth  faults, 

Not  with  flaw-seeking  eyes  like  needle  points, 

But  loving-kindly  even  looks  them  down 

With  the  o'er-coming  hope  of  meek  forgiveness  ; 

A  love  that  shall  be  new  and  fresh  each  hour, 

As  is  the  golden  mystery  of  sunset, 

Or  the  sweet  coming  of  the  evening  star, 

Alike,  and  yet  most  unlike,  erery  day, 

And  seeming  ever  best  and  fairest  now ; 

A  love  that  doth  not  kneel  for  what  it  seeks, 

But  faces  Truth  and  Beauty  as  their  peer, 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Showing  its  worthiness  of  noble  thoughts 

By  a  clear  sense  of  inward  nobleness  ; 

A  love  that  in  its  object  findeth  not 

All  grace  and  beauty,  and  enough  to  sate 

Its  thirst  of  blessing,  but,  in  all  of  good 

Found  there,  it  sees  but  Heaven-granted  types 

Of  good  and  beauty  in  the  soul  of  man, 

And  traces,  in  the  simplest  heart  that  beats, 

A  family-likeness  to  its  chosen  one, 

That  claims  of  it  the  rights  of  brotherhood. 

For  love  is  blind  but  with  the  fleshly  eye, 

That  so  its  inner  sight  may  be  more  clear; 

And  outward  shows  of  beauty  only  so 

Are  needful  at  the  first,  as  is  a  hand 

To  guide  and  to  uphold  an  infant's  steps ; 

Great  spirits  need  them  not:  their  earnest  look 

Pierces  the  body's  mask  of  their  disguise, 

And  beauty  ever  is  to  them  revealed. 

Behind  the  unshapliest,  meanest  lump  of  clay, 

With  arms  outstreched  and  eager  face  ablaze, 

Yearning  to  be  but  understood  and  loved. 

—  Lowell. 


INCOM  PLETENESS. 


(48) 


8.    B.  -  F.    J.    S.    T. 

Nothing  resting  in  its  own  completeness 
Can  have  worth  or  beauty  ;  but  alone 

Because  it  leads  and  tends  to  further  sweetness, 
Fuller,  higher,  deeper  than  its  own. 

Spring's  real  glory  dwells  not  in  the  meaning, 
Gracious  though  it  be,  of  her  blue  hours; 

But  is  hidden  in  her  tender  leaning 

To  the  Summer's  richer  wealth  of  flowers. 

Dawn  is  fair,  because  the  mists  fade  slowly 
Into  Day,  which  floods  the  world  with  light; 

Twilight's  mystery  is  so  sweet  and  holy 
Just  because  it  ends  in  starry  Night. 

Childhood's  smiles  unconscious  graces  borrow 
From  strife,  that  in  a  far-off  future  lies; 

And  angel  glances  (veiled  now  by  Life's  sorrow) 
Draw  our  hearts  to  some  beloved  eyes. 

Life  is  only  bright  when  it  proceedeth 
Towards  a  truer,  deeper  Life  above; 

Human  Love  is  sweetest  when  it  leadeth 
To  a  more  divine  and  perfect  Love. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Learn  the  mystery  of  Progression  duly; 

Do  not  call  each  glorious  change  Decay ; 
But  know  we  only  hold  our  treasures  truly, 

When  it  seems  as  if  they  passed  away. 

Nor  dare  to  blame  Nature  for  incompleteness; 

In  that  want  their  beauty  lies;  they  roll 
Towards  some  infinite  depth  of  love  and  sweetness, 

Bearing  onward  man's  reluctant  soul. 

—  Proctor. 


(49) 

in  alt 

S.    B.  N.    A.    G.    C. 

Tis  a  beautiful  thought,  by  Philosophy  taught, 
That  from  all  things  created  some  good  is  outwrought; 
That  each  is  for  use,  and  not  one  for  abuse, 
Which  leaves  the  transgressor  no  room  for  excuse. 

Thus  'the  great,  and  the  small,  and  the  humblest  of 

all, 

To  action  and  duty  alike  have  a  call ; 
And  he  does  the  best,  who  excels  all  the  rest, 
In  making  the  lot  of  humanity  blest. 


GOOD    IN    ALL. 

As  Jonathan  Myer  sat  one  night  by  the  fire, 
Watching  the  flames  from  the  embers  expire, 
O'er  his  senses  there  stole,  and  into  his  soul, 
A  spell  of  enchantment  he  could  not  control. 

The  wind  shook  his  door  and  a  terrible  roar 

In   his  chimney  was  heard,  like   the  waves  on  the 

shore. 

In  wonder,  amazed,  old  Jonathan  gazed 
At  the  huge  oaken  back-log  as  fiercely  it  blazed. 

The  flames  of  his  fire  leaped  higher  and  higher, 

And  out  of  its  brightness  looked  images  dire; 

'Till  at  length,  a  great  brand  straight  on  end  seemed 

to  stand, 
And  then  into  human  proportions  expand. 

Old  Jonathan  said,  with  a  shake  of  his  head, 
'•  There's  nothing  in  Nature  I've  reason  to  dread, 
For  my  conscience  is  clear,  and  I'd  not  have  a  fear, 
Should  Satan  himself  at  this  moment  appear." 

"  Ha  !  your  words  shall  be  tried,"  quick  the  demon 
replied, 

•'  For,  lo  !  /  am  Satan,  here,  close  by  your  side. 

Men  should  never  defy  such  a  being  as  I, 

For  when  they  least  think  it,  behold  I  am  nigh." 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Said  Jonathan  Myer,  as  he  stirred  up  the  fire, 
"Your  face  nor  your  figure  I  do  not  admire, 
But,  if  that  is  your  style,  why,  it  isn't  worth  while 
For  me  to  find  fault  or  your  Maker  revile. 

"  Now  don't  have  a  fear,  lest  it  should  appear    > 
That  you're  an  intruder  —  I  welcome  you  here  ! 
So  pray  take  a  seat,  and  warm  up  your  feet, 
For  I  think  I  have  heard  that  you're  partial  to  heat." 

"  Well,  you  are  either  a  fool  or  remarkably  cool," 
Said  Satan  —  accepting  the  low  wooden  stool  — 
"  But  before  I  depart,  I  will  give  you  a  start 
Which  will  send  back  the  blood  with  a  rush  to  your 
heart." 

"  Well,  and  what  if  you  should  ?  It  might  do  one 
good, 

For  a  shock  sometimes  helps  one  —  so  I've  under 
stood. 

But  just  here  let  me  say,  that  for  many  a  day 

I've  been  hoping  and  wishing  you'd  happen  this  way. 

"So  give  us  your  hand,  and  you'll  soon  understand, 
What  a  work  in  the  future  for  you  I  have  planned." 
Satan's   hand    then    he    seized,    which    he  forcibly 
squeezed, 

At  which  the  arch-fiend  looked  more  angry  than 
pleased. 


GOOD    IN    ALL. 

A  puzzled  surprise  looked  out  of  his  eyes, 

Which  was  really  quite  strange  for  the  "father  of 

lies." 
•"Come,"  said  he.  ''this  won't  do  —  /am  Satan,  not 

&>*," 
Said  Jonathan  Myer,  "  Very  true,  very  true. 

"  Now  don't  get  perplexed,  excited  or  vexed, 
At  what  I'm  about  to  present  to  you  next, 
Your  attention  please  lend,  or  you'll  see  in  the  end, 
That  Jonathan  Myer,  at  least,  is  your  friend. 

•"  J've  been  led  to  suppose,  in  spite  of  your  foes, 
That  you  are  far  better  than  any  one  knows. 
Now,  if  there  is  good,  in  stock,  stone,  or  wood, 
I'm  bound  to  get  at  it,  as  every  one  should. 

"So  I'll  not   have  a  fear  —  though  you  seem   sort 

o' queer  — 

But  what  all  your  goodness  will  shortly  appear, 
Fact  —  1  know  that  it  will,  though  too  mingled  with 

ill, 
So  —  so  —  don't  get  restless —  be  patient  —  sit  still. 

'<  Now  I  long  since  agreed,  that  there  was  great  need 
Of  a  Devil  and  Hell  in  the  Orthodox  Creed. 
All  things  are  for  use,  and  none  for  abuse, 

{And  the  same  law  applies  to  a  man  or  a  goose), 
n 


SEVEN    DOZEN   GEMS. 

"  So  they'll   keep  you  in  play  till  the  Great  Judg 
ment  Day, 

When  the  Saviour  of  sinners  will  thrust  you  away. 
But  then,  don't  you  see,  they  and  I  don't  ajrree; 
So  you'll  not  be  obliged  to  play  Satan  to  me. 

"  Even  now,  in  your  eyes,  does  there  slowly  arise 
A  look,  which  no  lover  of  good  can  despise. 
So  open  your  heart  and  its  goodness  impart, 
~For  now  there's  no    need  you  should  practice  your 
art." 

Oh,  strange  to'relate  !  all  that  visage  of  hate, 
Which  wore  such  a  fearful  expression  of  late, 
Grew  gentle  and  mild  as  the  face  of  a  child, 
Ere  the   springs  of   its  life  have  with  doubt  been 
defiled. 

And  a  voice,  soft  and  low  as  a  rivulet's  flow, 
Said  gently,  "  I  was  but  in  seeming  your  foe, 
Man  ever  will  find  in  himself  or  his  kind 
Either  evil  or  good,  as  he  makes  up  his  mind. 

"As  God  is  in  all,  so  he  answered  your  call, 
And  the  evil  appearance  to  you  is  let  fall. 
This  truth  I  commend  to  you  as  a  friend, 
That  evil  will  all  change  to  good  in  the  end." 


LITTLE    PEOPLE. 

Then  Jonathan  Myer  sat  alone  by  his  fire, 

'Till  he  saw  the  last  light  from  the  embers  expire. 

And  he  thoughtful!^  said,  as  he  turned  towards  his 

bed, 
"I  will  banish  all  hale  and  put  love  in  its  stead" 

"  I  will  DO,  and  not  DREAM  —  I  will  BE  and  not  SEEM, 
And  the  triumph  of  goodness  I'll  take  for  my  theme. 
Great  Spirit  above  !  I  have  learned  through  thy 

love, 
That  the  Serpent  has  uses  as  well  as  the  DOVE." 


(50) 
Hitttc 


A  dreary  place  would  be  this  earth, 
Were  there  no  little  people  in  it; 

The  song  of  life  would  lose  its  mirth, 
Were  there  no  children  to  begin  it. 

No  little  forms,  like  buds  to  grow, 

And  make  the  admiring  heart  surrender; 

No  little  hands  on  breast  and  brow, 

To  keep  the  thrilling  love-chords  tender. 


SEVEN    DOZEN   GEMS. 

"  So  they'll   keep  you  in  play  till  the  Great  Judg 
ment  Day, 

When  the  Saviour  of  sinners  will  thrust  you  away. 
But  then,  don't  you  see,  they  and  I  don't  agree; 
So  you'll  not  be  obliged  to  play  Satan  to  me. 

"  Even  now,  in  your  eyes,  does  there  slowly  arise 
A  look,  which  no  lover  of  good  can  despise. 
So  open  your  heart  and  its  goodness  impart, 
,-For  now  there's  no   need  you  should  practice  your 
art." 

Oh,  strange  to'relate  !  all  that  visage  of  hate, 
Which  wore  such  a  fearful  expression  of  late, 
Grew  gentle  and  mild  as  the  face  of  a  child, 
Ere  the   springs  of   its  life  have  with  doubt  been 
defiled. 

And  a  voice,  soft  and  low  as  a  rivulet's  flow, 
Said  gently,  "  I  was  but  in  seeming  your  foe, 
Man  ever  will  find  in  himself  or  his  kind 
Either  evil  or  good,  as  he  makes  up  his  mind. 

''As  God  is  in  all,  so  he  answered  your  call, 
And  the  evil  appearance  to  you  is  let  fall. 
This  truth  I  commend  to  you  as  a  friend, 
That  evil  will  oil  change  to  good  in  the  end." 


LITTLE    PEOPLE. 

Then  Jonathan  Myer  sat  alone  by  his  fire, 

'Till  he  saw  the  last  light  from  the  embers  expire. 

And  he  thoughtfully  said,  as  he  turned  towards  his 

bed, 
"I  will  banish  all  hale  and  put  love  in  its  stead." 

"  I  will  DO,  and  not  DREAM  —  I  will  BE  and  not  SEEM, 
And  the  triumph  of  goodness  I'll  take  for  my  theme. 
Great  Spirit  above  !  I  have  learned  through  thy 

love, 
That  the  Serpent  has  uses  as  well  as  the  DOVE." 


(50) 
L'ittlc 


A  dreary  place  would  be  this  earth, 
Were  there  no  little  people  in  it; 

The  song  of  life  would  lose  its  mirth, 
Were  there  no  children  to  begin  it. 

No  little  forms,  like  buds  to  grow, 

And  make  the  admiring  heart  surrender; 

No  little  hands  on  breast  and  brow, 

To  keep  the  thrilling  love-chords  tender. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

The  sterner  souls  would  grow  more  stern, 
Unfeeling  nature  more  inhuman, 

And  man  to  stoic  coldness  turn, 

And  woman  would  be  less  than  woman. 

Life's  song,  indeed,  would  lose  its  charm, 
Were  there  no  babies  to  begin  it; 

A  doleful  place  this  world  would  be, 
Were  there  no  little  people  in  it. 


(51) 

ttue  ©Mjcfcjen 

You  may  take  the  world  as  it  comes  and  goes, 

And  you  will  be  sure  to  find 
That  fate  will  square  the  account  she  owes, 

Whoever  comes  out  behind ; 
And  all  things  bad  that  a  man  has  done, 

By  whatsoever  induced, 
Return  at  last  to  him,  one  by  one, 

As  the  chickens  come  home  to  roost. 

You  may  scrape  and  toil,  and  pinch  and  save, 
While  your  hoarded  wealth  expands, 

Till  the  cold,  dark  shadow  of  the  grave 
Is  nearing  your  life's  last  sands; 


WHEN  THE  CHICKENS  COME  HOME. 

You  will  have  your  balance  struck  some  night, 
And  you'll  find  your  hoard  reduced, 

You'll  view  your  life  in  another  light, 
When  the  chickens  come  home  to  roost. 

You  can  stint  your  soul,  and  starve  your  heart 

With  the  husks  of  a  barren  creed, 
But  you  will  know  if  you  play  a  part, 

Will  know  in  your  hour  of  need; 
And  then  as  you  wait  for  death  to  come 

What  hope  can  there  be  deduced 
From  a  creed  alone  ?  you  will  lie  there  dumb 

While  your  chickens  come  home  to  roost. 

Sow  as  you  will,  there's  time  to  reap, 

For  the  good  and  bad  as  well, 
And  conscience,  whether  we  wake  or  sleep, 

Either  in  heaven  or  hell. 
And  every  wrong  will  find  its  place, 

And  every  passion  loosed, 
Drifts  back  and  meets  you  face  to  face  — 

When  the  chickens  come  home  to  roost. 

Whether  you're  over  or  under  the  sod 

The  result  will  be  the  same; 
You  cannot  escape  the  hand  of  God, 

You  must  bear  your  sin  or  shame: 
M* 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 


No  matter  what 's  carved  on  a  marble  slab, 

When  the  items  are  all  produced 
You'll  find  that  Old  Peter  was  keeping  "tab," 

And  that  chickens  come  home  to  roost. 


(52) 

torn  ' 

We  shall  lack  nothing,  having  love ;  and  we, 
We  must  be  happy  everywhere,  —  we  two; 
For  spiritual  life  is  great  and  clear, 
And  self-continuous  as  the  changeless  sea. 

.     .     .     .     As  is  the  sea's, 
So  is  the  life  of  spirit,  and  the  kind. 
And  then,  with  natures  raised,  refined,  and  freed 
From  these  poor  forms,  our  days  shall  pass  in  peace 
And  love  ;  no  thought  of  human  littleness 
Shall  cross  our  high,  calm  souls,  shining  and  pure 
As  the  gold  gates  of  heaven. 

This  life,  this  world,  is  not  enough  for  us; 
They  are  nothing  to  the  measure  of  our  mind. 
We  live  in  deeds  not  years;  in  thoughts  not  breaths; 


SONNET. 

In.  feelings,  not  in  figures  on  a  dial. 

We  should  count  time  by  heart-throbs.     He  most 

lives 

Who  thinks  most,  feels  the  noblest,  acts  the  best. 
We  never  can  be  deathless  till  we  die. 


(53) 

There  never  yet  was  flower  fair  in  vain, 
Let  classic  poets  rhyme  it  as  they  will; 
The  seasons  toil  that  it  may  blow  again, 
And  summer's  heart  doth  feel  its  every  ill; 
Nor  is  a  true  soul  ever  born  for  naught; 
Wherever  any  such  hath  lived  and  died, 
There  hath  been  something  for  true  freedom  wrought, 
Some  bulwark  leveled  on  the  evil  side: 
Toil  on,  then,  Greatness !  thou  art  in  the  right, 
However  narrow  souls  may  call  thee  wrong; 
Be  as  thou  wouldst  be  in  thine  own  clear  sight, 
And  so  thou  shalt  be  in  the  world's  erelong; 
For  worldlings  cannot,  struggle  as  they  may, 
From  man's  great  soul  one  great  thought  hide  away. 

—  Lowell. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 


(54) 


S.    B.  -  W.    C.    S. 

Rise  !  for  the  day  is  passing, 

And  you  lie  dreaming  on  ; 
The  others  have  buckled  their  armour, 

And  forth  to  the  fight  are  gone  ; 
A  place  in  the  ranks  awaits  you, 

Each  man  ha*  some  part  to  play  ; 
The  Past  and  the  Future  are  nothing, 

In  the  face  of  the  stern  To-day. 

Rise  from  your  dreams  of  the  Future, 

Of  gaining  some  hard  -fought  field  ; 
Of  storming  some  airy  fortress, 

Or  bidding  some  giant  yield  ; 
Your  Future  has  deeds  of  glory, 

Of  honor,  (God  grant  it  may  !) 
But  your  arm  will  never  be  stronger, 

Or  the  need  so  great  as  To-day. 

Rise  !  if  the  Past  detains  you, 
Her  sunshine  and  storms  forget  ; 

No  chains  so  unworthy  to  hold  you 
As  those  of  a  vain  regret  ; 


THE    SONG    OF    SEVENTY 

Sad  or  bright,  she  is  lifeless  now  ; 

Cast  her  phantom  arms  away. 
Nor  look  back,  save  to  learn  the  lesson 

Of  a  nobler  strife  To-day. 

Rise  !  for  the  day  is  passing  ; 

The  sound  that  you  scarcely  hear 
Is  the  enemy  marching  to  battle  ;  — 

Arise  !  for  the  foe  is  here  ! 
Stay  not  to  sharpen  your  weapons, 

Or  the  hour  will  strike  at  last, 
When,  from  dreams  of  a  coming  battle, 

You  may  wake  to  find  it  past ! 

—  Adelaide  Proctor. 


(55) 

of  ^ 

8.    B. N.    E.    8. 

I  am  not  old  —  I  cannot  be  old, 
Though  three  score  years  and  ten 

Have  wasted  away,  like  a  tale  that  is  told, 
The  lives  of  other  men. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

I  am  not  old  :  though  friends  and  foec 
Alike  have  gone  to  their  graves, 

And  left  me  alone  to  my  joys  or  my  woes, 
As  a  rock  in  the  midst  of  the  waves. 

1  am  not  old  —  I  cannot  be  old, 

Though  tottering,  wrinkled,  and  gray  ; 
Though  my  eyes  are  dim.  and  my  marrow  is 

Call  me  not  old  to-day.  [cold, 

For  early  memories  round  me  throng,  — 

Old  times,  and  manners,  and  men,  — 
As  I  look  behind  on  my  journey  so  long, 

Of  three  score  miles  and  ten. 

I  look  behind,  and  am  once  more  young, 

Buoyant,  and  brave,  and  bold, 
And  my  heart  can  sing,  as'of  yore  it  sung, 

Before  they  called  me  old. 
I  do  not  see  her  —  the  old  wife  there  — 

Shriveled,  and  haggard,  and  gray, 
But  I  look  on  her  blooming,  and  soft,  and  fair, 

As  she  was  on  her  wedding-day'! 

I  do  not  see  you,  daughters  and  sons, 
In  the  likeness  of  women  and  men. 

But  I  kiss  you  now  as  I  kissed  you  once, 
My  fond  little  children  then  ! 


THE    SONG    OF    SEVENTY 

And  as  my  grandson  rides  on  my  knee, 

Or  plays  with  his  hoop  or  kite, 
I  can  well  recollect  1  was  merry  as  he  — 

The  bright-eyed  little  wight ! 

'Tis  not  long  since  —  it  cannot  be  long, 

My  years  so  soon  were  spent  — 
Since  I  was  a  boy,  both  straight  and  strong, 

Yet  now  am  1  feeble  and  bent, 
A  dream,  a  dream  — it  is  all  a  dream; 

A  strange,  sad  dream,  good  sooth; 
For  old  as  1  am,  and  old  as  I  seem, 

My  heart  is  full  of  youth. 

Eye  hath  not  seem,  tongue  hath  not  told, 

And  ear  hath  not  heard  it  sung, 
How  buoyant  and  bold  though  it  seem  to  grow 

Is  the  heart,  forever  young.  [old, 

Forever  young,  —  though  life's  old  age 

Hath  every  nerve  unstrung ; 
The  heart,  the  heart  is  a  heritage 

That  keeps  the  old  man  young. 

—  Tupper. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

(56) 

The  old  world  is  effete  ;  there  man  with  man 
Jostles,  and.  in  the  brawl  for  means  to  live, 
Life  is  trod  under  foot,  —  Life,  the  one  block 
Of  marble  that's  vouchsafed  wherefrom  to  carve 
Our  great  thoughts,  white  and  Godlike,  to  shine  down 
The  future,  Life,  the  irredeemable  block, 
Which  one  o'erhasty  chisel  dint  oft  mars, 
Scanting  our  room  to  cut  the  features  out 
Of  our  full  hope,  so  forcing  us  to  crown 
With  a  mean  head  the  perfect  limbs,  or 
Leave  the  god's  face  glowing  o'er  a  satyr's  trunk, 

Failure's  brief  epitaph. 

—  Lowell. 


(57) 


S.    B.  -  N.    A.    G.    C. 

0  World  !  somewhat  I  have  to  say  to  thee. 

0  sin-sick,  heart-sick,  soul-sick,  love-sick  World  ! 

So  ailing  art  thou,  both  in  part  and  particle, 

That  solid  truth  thy  stomach  ill  digests. 

Yet,  since  thou  art  my  mother,  I  will  love  thee, 

And  heedless  of  thy  frowns,  "will  speak  right  on." 


LOVE. 

That  which  lielongs  to  all  men  is  least  prized  ; 

The  thing  most  common  is  least  understood. 

That  which  is  deep  and  silent,  is  divine  ; 

And  there  is  nought  on  earth  so  craved,  so  common, 

So  misunderstood,  or  so  divine,  as  Love. 

When  meted  in  proportion  to  man's  need, 
"  Measure  for  measure,"  it  doth  purify, 
Exalt,  and  make  him  equal  with  the  gods. 
He  feeds  upon  ambrosia,  and  his  drink 
Is  nectar  ;  high  Olympus  cannot  yield 
Delights  more  grateful  to  his  soul  and  sense. 

Parnassus  fails  his  rapture  to  express, 

And  Helicon  hath  less  of  inspiration, 

But,  prithee,  should  he  chance  to  drink  too  deep 

Of  the  exhilarating  draught,  — should  plunge 

Him  head  and  ears  into  this  'wildering  flood, — 

Mark,  then,  what  marvelous  diversions 

From  the  center  of  his  gravity  ensue. 

Judgment  is  scouted  —  sober  common  sense 
Yields  to  imagination's  airy  flights  ; 
Upon  a  swift-winged  hippogriff  he  mounts, 
To  seek  the  fair  Arcadia  of  his  dreams. 
He  builds  him  castles  —  basks  in  moonshine  —  feeds 
12 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Among  lilies  —  pours  his  passion  forth 

In  amorous  canticles  and  burning  sighs  — 

Makes  him  a  bed  of  roses,  and  lies  down 

To  revel  in  his  rainbow-colored  dreams  — 

Until  some  turn,  some  ill-begotten  chance, 

Most  unexpectedly  invades  his  peace, 

And  castles,  moonshine,  roses,  rainbows  fly, 

And  leave  him  to  the  stern  realities  of  life. 

Alas,  poor  Human  Nature  !     Even  fools 

Must  learn  through  sad  experience  to  grow  wise. 

Love  is  the  highest  attribute  of  Nature  ; 
And  he  who  loves  divinely  is  most  blest. 
It  purgeth  passion  from  the  soul  and  sense, 
And  makes  the  man  a  unit  in  himself  ; 
Head,  eyes,  hands,  heart,  all  work  in  unison,. 
And  beasts,  and  savages,  and  rudest  hinds, 
All  feel  alike  its  exercise  of  power. 

Ambition  cannot  walk  with  it ;  for  he 
Who  learns  to  live  and  love  aright,  loves  all, 
And  finds  preferment  in  the  general  weal. 
Though,  Proteus  like,  it  taxes  a  thousand  forms, 
It  doth  o'ercome  all  evil  with  its  good, 
Casteth  out  devils  —  sensuality,  and  sin, 


LOVE. 

And  green-eyed  jealousy,  and  hate  ;  and  like 
Chrysostom,  golden -mouthed,  it  doth  attune 
The  words  of  common  speech  to  sweet  accord, 
And  gives  significance  to  simplest  things. 

It  buddeth  out  in  tender  infancy, 

Like  fresh  blown  violets  in  the  early  spring, 

And  giveth  form  and  fashion  to  all  life, 

For,  by  its  character,  it  doth  decide 

\Vliut  elements  and  essences  the  soul 

Shall  draw  from  contact  with  material  things. 

As  roses  draw  their  blushes,  lilies  whiteness, 

Violets  their  azure,  from  the  same  dull  earth, 

So  Love  extracts  the  sweetness  of  Life, 

And  doth  so  mingle  all  within  her  crucible, 

That  she  creates  the  difference  between 

Immortal  souls.     The  fiery  heart  of  youth, 

Full  of  high  aims  and  generous  purposes  of  good, 

Swells  like  the  ocean  waves  beneath  the  moon, 

And  brooketh  no  restraint,  until  it  finds 

Its  living  counterpart,  and  mergeth  all 

It  hath  of  truth,  and  manliness,  and  might, 

Into  a  second  and  a  dearer  self. 

So  goes  the  world  !  and  strong  necessity 
Creates  the  law  of  action,  whose  results 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Join  issue  with  the  love  of  Truth  itself. 

O  jealous,  wanton,  ill-conceited  World  ! 

How  little  dost  thou  understand  the  deep 

Significance  and  potency  of  Love! 

Thou  has  defiled  thyself  with  gross  perversions, 

Till  purity  of  love  is  but  a  jest, 

Or  reckoned  with  the  fantasies  of  fools. 

0,  I  would  take  thee,  dear  Humanity, 

And  set  thee  face  to  face  with  perfect  Love. 

She  is  thy  mother!     Love  and  Wisdom  met 

United  by  Eternal  Power.     The  worlds 

Sprang    forth    from   chaos;     and   the    love    which 

brought 

Them  into  being  doth  sustain  them  still. 
The  monad  and  the  angel  rest  alike 
Within  its  all  embracing  arms  ;  and  life, 
And  death,  with  all  that  makes  our  mortal  state, 
Are  cradled  at  the  footstool  of  this  power. 
Then,  sweet  Humanity,  thou  favored  child 
Lcok  up  !     An  everlasting  chain 
Doth  bind  thee  to  the  mighty  heart  of  all. 
Love's  labor  never  can  he  lost. 

And  that,  which  hath  such  poor  expression  here, 
Shall  find  fruition  in  a  brighter  sphere. 

—  Uo.'en. 


LIFE. HOW    WONDERFUL    IS    MAN! 

(58) 

£***. 

Life.  I  know  not  what  thou  art, 

But  know  that  thou  and  I  must  part; 

And  when  or  how  or  where  we  met, 

I  own  to  me 's  a  secret  yet. 

Life,  we  Ve  been  long  together 

Through  pleasant  and  through  cloudy  weather. 

1  Tis  hard  to  part  when  friends  are  dear; 

Perhaps  'twill  cost  a  sigh,  a  tear; 

Then  steal  away,  give  little  warning; 

Choose  thine  own  time; 
Say  not  good-night,  but  in  some  brighetr  clime 

Bid  me  good-morning. 

—  Anna  L.  Barlauld,  1743-1825. 


(59.) 

Hour  tK'lomlcvfxtt  is 

How  poor,  how  rich,  how  abject,  how  august, 
How  complicate,  how  wonderful,  is  man  I 
How  passing  wonder  that  which  made  him  such, 
That  centered  in  our  make  such  strange  extremes, 

12* 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

From  different  natures  marvelously  mixed, 
Connection  exquisite  of  distant  worlds, 
Distinguished  link  in  being's  endless  chain, 
Midway  from  nothing  to  Infinity  ! 
A  beam  ethereal  sullied,  and  absorpt ! 
Though  sullied  and  dishonored,  still  divine  ! 
Dim  miniature  of  greatness  absolute, 
An  heir  of  glory,  a  frail  child  of  dust, 
Helpless  immortal,  insect  infinite  ! 
A  worm  !  a  god  !  I  tremble  at  myself. 
And  in  myself  am  lost, —  at  home,  a  stranger. 

An  angeTs  arm  can't  snatch  me  from  the  grave  ; 
Regions  of  angels  can't  confine  me  there. 

This  is  the  bud  of  being,  the  dim  dawn, 
The  twilight  of  our  day,  the  vestibule. 
Life's  theater  as  yet  is  shut ;  and  death, 
Strong  death,  alone,  can  heave  the  massy  bar, 
This  gross  impediment  of  clay  remove, 
And  make  us  embryos  of  existence  free 

— Edward  Young, 


THE    TIME    HAS    COME. 


(60.) 

'i'hc 


The  time  has  come  to  stand  erect, 
In  noble,  manly  self-respect  ; 
To  see  the  bright  sun  overhead, 
To  feel  the  ground  beneath  our  tread, 
Unled  by  priests,  uncursed  by  creeds, 
Our  manhood  proving  by  our  deeds. 

The  time  has  come  to  break  the  yoke, 
Whatever  cost  the  needed  stroke  ; 
To  set  the  toiling  millions  free, 
Whatever  price  their  liberty  : 
Better  a  few  should  die,  than  all 
Be  held  in  worse  than  deadly  thrall. 

The  time  has  come  for  men  to  find 
Their  Statute-book  within  the  mind; 
To  read  its  laws,  and  cease  to  pore 
The  musty  tomes  of  ages  o'er  : 
Truth's  golden  rays  its  page  illume  ; 
Her  fires  your  legal  scrolls  consume. 

The  time  has  come  to  preach  the  soul; 
.Y"  i/i-iiji-i  sJired,  the  manly  whole. 


SEVEN    DOZEX    GEMS. 


Let  agitation  come  :  who  fears  ? 
We  need  a  flood :  the  filth  of  years 
Has  gathered  round  us.     Roll,  then,  on  : 
What  cannot  stand  had  best  be  gone. 


—  Denton. 


(61) 


S.   B.  -  M     F.    B.    F. 

It  was  midnight  dark,  when  I  launched  my  bark 

On  a  wild,  tempestuous  sea; 
The  lightnings  flashed,  and  the  white  waves  dashed 

Like  steeds  from  the  rein  set  free. 
'Twas  a  fearful  night,  and  no  beacon-light 

O'er  the  waste  of  waters  shone  ; 
On  the  wide,  wide  sweep  of  the  angry  deep, 

Alas  !     I  was  all  alone. 

I  had  left  behind  the  faithful  and  kind, 

The  'gentle  and  true  of  heart  ; 
O  God  above  !  from  their  clinging  love, 

It  was  hard,  it  was  hard  to  part. 
0,  why  did  I  leave  such  hearts  to  grieve, 

And  haste  from  my  home  away  ? 
'Twas  the  chosen  hour  of  a  mighty  power, 

Whose  summons  1  must  obey. 


OUTWAKD    BOUND. 

1  had  heard  the  call  which  must  come  to  all, 

And  I  felt,  by  my  quickened  breath, 
I  must  leave  that  shore  to  return  no  more, 

For  the  name  of  that  sea  was  Death. 
Thus  Outward  Bound,  with  a  dizzy  sound 

Like  waves  in  my  troubled  brain, 
1  drifted  away  like  "a  soul  astray, 

For  1  felt  that  to  strive  was  vain. 

Like  the  brooding  wing  of  some  grewsome  thing, 

The  darkness  around  me  spread; 
The  wild  winds  roared,  and  the  tempests  poured 

Their  fury  upon  my  head. 
Anon  through  the  nights,  like  serpents  bright, 

The  quivering  lightnings  came, 
Or  an  instant  coiled  where  the  white  waves  boiled, 

To  moisten  their  tongues  of  flame. 

In  the  giddy  whirl,  in  the  greedy  swirl, 

I  felt  I  was  sinking  fast, 
When  an  arm,  as  white  as  the  opal  bright, 

Was  firmly  around  me  cast. 
And  a  well-known  voice  made  my  heart  rejoice  — 

"  Fear  not  !  for  the  strife  is  o'er ; 
To  your  resting-place  in  my  warm  embrace, 

Do  I  welcome  you  back  once  more." 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Twas  ray  mother  dear  spake  those  words  of  cheer, 

Whom  I  met  with  a  glad  surprise, 
For  1  thought  she  slept  where  the  willows  wept, 

Till  the  day  when  the  dead  should  rise. 
I  had  passed  away  from  my  form  of  clay, 

But  not  to  a  distant  sphere  ; 
Like  a  troubled  dream  did  the  struggle  seem, 

For  my  spirit  still  lingered  here. 

I  had  weathered  the  storm,  but  my  mortal  form 

Like  a  wreck  in  my  presence  lay; 
They  said  I  was  dead  when  my  spirit  fled, 

And  with  weeping  they  turned  away. 
Then  the  dearest  came,  and  she  sobbed  my  name. 

But  how  could  those  pale  lips  speak  ? 
She  bent  o'er  my  form  like  a  reed  in  the  storm, 

As  she  kissed  my  clay-cold  cheek. 

I  was  with  her  there,  and  with  tender  care 

I  folded  her  close  to  my  breast, 
Till  the  heart's  wild  throb,  and  the  bursting  sob, 

Were  silenced  arid  soothed  to  rest. 
O  human  love  !  there  is  naught  above, 

That  ever  will  rudely  part 
The  sacred  tie,  or  the  union  high, 

Of  those  who  are  one  in  heart. 


OUTWARD    BOUND.     , 

A  bridge  leads  o'er  from  the  heavenly  shore, 

Where  the  happy  spirits  pass, 
And  the  angels  that  stand  with  harp  in  hand, 

On  the  "  sea,  as  it  were,  of  glass," 
Play  so  soft  and  clear,  that  the  human  ear, 

And  the  spirits  who  love  the  Lord, 
Can  catch  the  sound  through  the  space  profound. 

And  join  in  the  sweet  accord. 

Oh,  what  is  death  ?     Tis  a  fleeting  breath  — 

A  simple  but  blessed  change  — 
'Tis  rending  a  chain,  that  the  soul  may  gain 

A  higher  and  broader  range. 
Unbounded  space  is  its  dwelling  place, 

Where  no  human  foot  hath  trod, 
But  everywhere  doth  it  feel  the  care 

And  the  changeless  love  of  God. 

O,  then,  though   you  weep   when   your   loved   ones 
sleep, 

"When  the  rose  on  the  cheek  grows  pale, 
Yet  their  forms  of  light,  just  concealed  from  sight, 

Are  only  behind  the  veil. 
With  their  faces  fair,  and  their  shining  hair 

With  blossoms  of  beauty  crowned, 
They  will  also  stand,  with  a  helping  hand 

When  you  shall  be  Outward  Bound. 

—  Doten. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

(62) 
gttjmrt  to  gcixtlx. 

S.    B.  N.    A.    G.    C. 

Oh  !  could  I  hope  the  wise  and  pure  in  heart 

Might  hear  my  song  without  a  frown,  nor  deem 

My  voice  unworthy  of  the  theme  it  tries, — 

I  would  take  up  the  hymn  to  Death,  and  say 

To  the  grim  power:     The  world  hath  slandered  thee 

And  mock'd  thee.     On  thy  dim  and  shadowy  brow 

They  place  an  iron  crown,  and  call  thee  king 

Of  terrors,  and  the  spoiler  of  the  world. 

Deadly  assassin,  that  strikest  down  the  fair, 

The  loved,  the  good  —  that  "breathest  on  the  lights 

Of  virtue  set  along  the  vale  of  life, 

And  they  go  out  in  darkness.     I  am  come, 

Not  with  reproaches,  not  with  cries  and  prayers, 

Such  as  have  stormed  thy  stern,  insensible  ear 

From  the  beginning  ;  I  am  come  to  speak 

Thy  praises.     True  it  is,  that  I  have  wept 

Thy  conquests,  and  may  weep  them  yet  again, 

And  thou,  from  some  I  love,  wilt  take  a  life 

Dear  to  me  as  my  own.     Yet  while  the  spell 

Is  on  my  spirit,  and  I  talk  with  thee 

In  sight  of  all  thy  trophies,  face  to  face, 


HYMN    TO    DEATH. 

Meet  is  it  that  my  voice  should  utter  forth 
Thy  nobler  triumphs;  I  will  teach  the  world 
To  thank  thee.     Who  are  thine  accusers  ?     Who ? 
The  living  !  —  They  who  never  felt  thy  power, 
And  know  thee  not.     The  curses  of  the  wretch 
Whose  crimes  are  ripe,  his  sufferings  when  thy  hand 
Is  on  him,  and  the  hour  he  dreads  is  come, 
Are  writ  among  thy  praises.     But  the  good  — 
Does  he  whom  thy  kind  hand  dismiss  to  peace, 
Upbraid  the  gentle  violence  that  took  off 
His  fetters,  and  unbarred  his  prison  cell  ? 
Raise  then  the  hymn  to  Death.     Deliverer  ! 

Thou  dost  avenge,  in  thy  good  time,  the  wrongs  of 

those  who  know 

No  other  friend.     Nor  dost  thou  interpose, 
Only  to  lay  the  sufferer  asleep, 
Where  be  who  made  him  wretched,  troubles  not 
His  rest  —  thou  dost  strike  down  his  tyrant  too. 
Oh,  there  is  joy  when  hands,  that  held  the  scourge,] 
Drop  lifeless,  and  the  pitiless  heart  is  cold. 
Thou,  too,  dost  purge  from  earth  its  horrible 
And  old  idolatries  ;  —  from  the  proud  fanes 
Each  to  his  grave  their  priests  go  out,  till  none 
Is  left  to  teach  their  worship;  then  the  fires 

13 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Of  sacrifice  are  chilled,  and  the  green  moss 
O'er  creeps  their  altars;  the  fallen  images 
Cumber  the  weedy  courts,  and  for  loud  hymns, 
Chanted  by  kneeling  multitudes,  the  wind 

Shrieks  in  the  solitary  aisles 

But,  oh,  most  fearfully 

Dost  thou  show  forth  Heaven's   justice,   when  thy 

shafts 

Drink  up  the  ebbing  spirit  —  then  the  hard 
Of  heart  and  violent  of  hand  restores 
The  treasure  to  the  friendless  wretch  he  wronged. 
Then,  from  the  writhing  bosom,  thou  dost  pluck 
The  guilty  secret;  lips,  for  ages  sealed, 
Are  faithless  to  their  dreadful  trust  at  length, 
And  give  it  up;  the  felon's  latest  breath 
Absolves  the  innocent  man  who  bears  his  crime; 
The  slanderer,  horror-smitten,  and  in  tears, 
Recalls  the  deadly  obloquy  he  forged 

To  work  his  brother's  ruin 

Thus,  from  the  first  of  time,  hast  thou  been  found 

On  virtue's  side;  the  wicked,  but  for  thee, 

Had  been  too  strong  for  the  good ;  the  great  of  earth 

Had  crushed  the  weak  forever 

—  Bryant. 


UNNUMBERED    GRAVES. 

(63) 

ol  u  ix u  m  b c vjert   (Ova w cs. 

Yon  hillside  with  its  shafts  of  gleaming  white, 

Bathed  in  the  glory  of  the  setting  sun, 
Holds  many  a  grave,  where,  hidden  from  our  sight, 

Some  loved  one  sleeps,  life's  toil  and  labor  done. 
But  there  are  graves  o'er  whose  slumbering  mould 

No  polished  marble  rears  its  stately  head, 
And  where  no  fragrant  flowers  above  unfold, 

To  awaken  pity  for  the  quiet  dead. 

These  are  the  graves  deep  down  within  our  hearts, 

Where  lie  the  hopes  and  dreams  of  early  years, 
Buried  from  sight,  but  signaled  by  such  marks 

As  only  can  be  made  by  blood  and  tears  — 
Some  early  love  that  crowned  us  in  our  youth, 

And  made  life  glorious  for  a  short  sweet  hour  — 
Some  cherished  promise,  robbed  of  strength  and  truth, 

Crushed  in  the  morning  of  its  new-born  power. 

Here  is  the  spot  where  memory  has  engraved 
Tim  form  and  face  of  one  we  called  a  friend, 

One  for  whose  welfare  we  would  e'en  have  braved 
Censure  and  heartache  to  the  bitter  end. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

But  twas  not  wisely  done,  and  so  we  draw 
Before  the  treachery  of  the  smiling  eyes 

A  heavy  veil.     The  cold  world  if  it  saw 
Would  proffer  pity  in  a  thousand  lies. 

So  life  goes  on.     We  lay  the  forms  away 

Of  things  we  loved  not  wisely  but  too  well, 
And  in  the  lapse  of  years  we  learn  to  stay 

The  fretted  chanting  of  their  funeral  knell. 
We  learn  to  smile  before  the  smiling  throng, 

Although  the  adder's  fangs  be  deeply  set; 
And  join,  perhaps,  our  voices  in  the  song, 

To  sooth  the  pain  we  never  can  forget. 

And  thus  we  learn  to  envy  the  calm  rest 

Of  those  who  sleep  beneath  the  silent  sod, 
Bound  with  life's  galling  chains,  we  know  'tis  best 

To  bow  our  heads  and  pass  beneath  the  rod; 
And  when  we  see  some  mourners  heavy  clad 

In  robes  of  black,  haggard,  with  tear-dimmed  eye, 
We  know  their  lives  would  be  more  bright  and  glad 

Could  they  but  reason  —  it  is  life  to  die. 

Mourn  not  the  slumbering  dead,  but  rather  say 
Blest  are  the  sleepers.     Years  may  come  and  go; 

Heads  that  are  brown  and  gold  may  turn  to  gray; 
But  they  are  done  wiih  earth  and  tears  and  woe. 


HOPE    FOB   THE    SORROWING. 

Somewhere,  we  know,  beyond  the  world  of  stars, 
They  will  at  last  have  found  sweet  Lethe's  stream; 

Sometime  will  meet  them  in  the  "over  there," 
Where  life  is  love,  and  love,  one  long  true  dream. 

—  Anon. 


(64) 

fov  tlxc   5>ovvciunnc}. 

This  was  delivered  at  the  funeral  service  of  Henry  L.  Kingman  of 
North  Bridgewater,  Maes.,  November,  1862. 

BY    LIZZIE    DOTEN. 

Ye  holy  ministers  of  Love, 

Blest  dwellers  in  the  upper  spheres, 

In  vain  we  fix  our  gaze  above, 
For  we  are  blinded  by  our  tears. 

0,  tell  us  to  what  land  unknown 
The  soul  of  him  we  love  has  flown  ? 

He  left  us  when  his  manly  heart 

With  earnest  hope  was  beating  high  ; 

Too  soon  it  seemed  for  us  to  part  ; 
Too  soon,  alas  !  for  him  to  die. 

We  have  the  tenement  of  clay, 
I'M  it  aye  the  soul  has  passed  away. 

13* 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Away,  into  the  unknown  dark, 

With  fearless  heart  and  steady  hand, 

He  calmly  launched  his  fragile  bark, 
To  seek  the  spirit's  fatherland. 

Say,  has  he  reached  some  distant  shore, 
To  speak  with  us  on  earth  no  more  ? 

\Ve  gaze  into  unmeasured  space, 

And  lift  our  tearful  eyes  above, 

/ 
To  catch  the  gleaming  of  his  face, 

Or  one  light  whisper  of  his  love. 
O  God  !  0  angels  !  hear  our  cry, 
Nor  let  our  hope  in  darkness  die  ! 

Hark  !  for  a  voice  of  gentle  tone 
The  answer  to  our  cry  hath  given, 

Soft  as  ^Eolian  harp  strings  blown, 
Responsive  to  the  breath  of  even  — 

"  I  have  not  sought  a  distant  shore, 
Lo  !  lam  with  you  —  weep  no  more. 

"  Aye  !  Love  is  stronger  far  than  death, 
And  wins  the  victory  o'er  the  grave; 

Dependent  on  no  mortal  breath, 
Its  mission  is  to  guide  and  save. 

Above  the  wrecks  of  Death  and  Time, 
It  triumphs,  changeless  and  sublime. 


WHAT    MAKES    A    MAX. 

"  Still  shall  my  love  its  vigils  keep, 
True  as  the  needle  to  the  pole, 

For  Death  is  not  a  dreamless  sleep, 
X<>r  is  the  Grave  man's  final  goal. 

The  larger  growth, —  the  life  divine, — 
All  that  I  hoped  or  wished,  are  mine." 

Blest  spirit !  we  will  weep  no  more, 
But  lay  our  selfishness  to  rest ; 

Condition's  laws  which  we  respect 
Have  ordered  all  thing  for  the  best. 

Life's  battle  fought,  the  victory  won, 
To  nobler  toils  pass  on  !  pass  on  ! 


oolhut  inuhcs  \\  lUan. 

Not  years  that  crown  a  lengthened  life; 
Not  numerous  children  and  a  wife; 
Not  pins,  nor  chains,  nor  glittering  rings, 
Nor  any  other  trumpery  things; 
Not  poisonous  pipe  nor  vile  cigar, — 
l-'roin  those  true  manhood  stands  afar; 
Not  coat,  nor  boots,  nor  stove-pipe  hat, 
A  dainly  vest,  or  trim  cravat; 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Not  Latin,  Greek,  nor  Hebrew  lore, 
For  thousand  volumes  rambled  o'er; 
Not  general,  reverend,  count,  nor  squire, 
For  manhood's  titles  must  be  higher; 
Not  ancestry  traced  back  to  Will, 
Who  went  from  Normandy  to  kill; 
Not  judge's  robes,  nor  mayor's  mace, 
Nor  crowns  that  deck  the  royal  race; 
Not  all  the  power  great  Csesar  had, 
"Whose  smile  could  make  a  nation  glad; 
Not  all  the  wealth  beneath  the  sun, 
Nor  all  the  fame  Napoleon  won; 
These,  though  united,  never  can 
Avail  to  make  a  full-grown  man. 
An  upright  spirit,  cultured  mind; 
A  soul  in  love  with  all  mankind, 
That  never  stoops  to  gain  its  ends, 
And  blesses  both  its  foes  and  friends; 
A  spirit  firm,  erect,  and  free, 
That  never  basely  bends  the  knee; 
That  truly  speaks  from  God  within, 
And  never  makes  a  league  with  sin; 
That  snaps  the  fetters  despots  make, 
And  loves  the  truth  for  its  own  sake; 
That  for  it  would  most  freely  die, 
And  ready  stands  to  smite  a  lie; 


FEW    HAPPY    MARRIAGES. 

That  trembles  at  no  tyrant's  nod,— 
A  soul  that  fears  not  even  God, 
And  thus  can  scorn  the  bigot's  ban, — 
That  is  the  soul  that  makes  a  man. 

—  Denton. 


(00) 

<Eeiu  Hupj.ni  Ttluvviarjcs. 

BY  ISAAC  WATTS,  D.D.,   AUGUST,   1701. 

Say,  mighty  Love,  and  teach  my  song, 
To  whom  my  sweetest  joys  belong, 

And  who  the  happy  pairs 
Whose  yielding  hearts,  and  joining  hands, 
Find  blessings  twisted  with  their  bands, 

To  soften  all  their  cares. 

Not  the  wild  herd  of  nymphs  and  swains 
That  thoughtless  fly  into  the  chains, 

As  custom  leads  the  way ; 
If  there  be  bliss  without  design, 
Ivies  and  oaks  may  grow  and  twine, 

And  be  as  blest  as  they. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Not  sordid  souls  of  earthly  mould 
Who  draw  by  kindred  charms  of  gold 

To  dull  embraces  move  ; 
So  two  rich  mountains  of  Peru 
May  rush  to  wealthy  marriage  too, 

And  make  a  world  of  Love. 

Not  the  mad  tribe  that  hell  inspires 
With  wanton  flames,  those  raging  fires 

The  purer  bliss  destroy; 
On  ^Etna's  top  let  furies  wed, 
And  sheets  of  lightning  dress  the  bed 
T'  improve  the  burning  joy. 

Nor  the  dull  pairs  whose  marble  forms. 
None  of  the  melting  passions  warm, 

Can  mingle  hearts  and  hands; 
Logs  of  green  wood  that  quench  the  coals 
Are  married  just  like  stoic  souls, 

With  osiers  for  their  bands. 

Not  minds  of  melancholy  strain, 
Still  silent,  or  that  still  complain, 

Can  the  dear  bondage  bless; 
As  well  may  heavenly  concerts  spring 
From  two  old  lutes  with  ne'er  a  string, 

Or  none  beside  the  .bass. 


FEW    HAPPY    MARRIAGES. 

Nor  can  the  soft  enchantments  hold 
Two  jarring  souls  of  angry  mould, 

The  rugged  and  the  keen; 
Sampson's  young  foxes  might  as  well 
In  bands  of  cheerful  wedlock  dwell, 

With  firebrands  tied  between. 

Nor  let  the  cruel  fetters  bind 
A  gentle  to  a  savage  mind, 

For  Love  abhors  the  sight; 
Loose  the  fierce  tiger  from  the  deer, 
For  native  rage  and  native  fear 

Rise  and  forbid  delight. 

• 
Two  kindred  souls  alone  must  meet, 

Tis  friendship  makes  the  bondage  sweet, 

And  feeds  their  mutual  loves; 
Bright  Venus  on  her  rolling  throne 
Is  drawn  by  gentlest  birds  alone, 
And  Cupids  yoke  the  doves. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

(67) 
of 


LIZZIE    DOTEN. 

•'The  bond  which  unites  the  human  to  the  divine  is  Love,  and  Love 
is  the  longing  of  the  Soul  for  Beauty:  inextinguishable  desire  which 
like  feels  for  like,  which  the  divinity  within  UP  feels  for  the  divinity 
revealed  to  us  in  Beauty.  Beauty  is  Truth."—  Plato. 

I  have  come  from  the  heart  of  all  natural  things, 
Whose  life  from  the  Soul  of  the  Beautiful  springs; 
You  shall  hear  the  sweet  waving  of  corn  in  my  voicer 
And  the  musical  whisper  of  leaves  that  rejoice, 
For  my  lips  ha.ve  been  touched  by  the  spirit  of  prayerr 
Which  lingers  unseen  in  the  soft  summer  air; 
And  the  smile  of  the  sunshine  that  brightens  the  skies, 
Hath  left  a  glad  ray  of  its  light  in  my  eyes. 

On  the  sea-beaten  shore  —  'mid  the  dwellings  of  men  — 
In  the  field,  or  the  forest,  or  wild  mountain  glen; 
Wherever  the  grass  or  a  daisy  could  spring. 
Or  the  musical  laughter  of  childhood  could  ring; 
Wherever  a  swallow  could  build  'neath  the  eaves, 
Or  a  squirrel  could  hide  in  his  covert  of  leaves, 
I  have  felt  the  sweet  presence,  and  heard  the  low  call, 
Of  the  Spirit  of  Nature,  which  quickens  us  all. 


THE    SPIRIT    OF    NATl'HE. 

Grown  weary  and  worn  with  the  conflict  of  creeds, 
I  had  sought  new  belief  for  the  soul  with  its  needs, 
When  the  love  of  the  Beautiful  guided  my  feet 
Through  a  leafy  arcade  to  a  sylvan  retreat, 
Where  the  oriole  sung  in  the  branches  above, 
And  the  wild  roses  burned  with  their  blushes  of  love, 
And  the  purple-fringed  aster,  and  bright  golden-rod, 
Like  jewels  of  beauty  adorned  the  green  sod. 

O,  how  blessed  to  feel  from  the  care-laden  heart 
All  the  sorrows  and  woes  that  oppressed  it,  depart, 
And  to  lay  the  tired  head,  with  its  achings,  to  rest 
On  the  heart  of  all  others  that  loves  it  the  best; 
O,  thus  is  it  ever,  when,  wearied,  we  yearn 
To  the  bosom  of  Nature  and  Truth  to  return, 
And  life  blossoms  forth  into  beauty  anew, 
And  we  learn  to  repose  in  the  Simple  and  True. 

No  longer  with  self  or  with  Nature  at  strife, 
The  soul  feels  the  presence  of  Infinite  Life; 
And  the  voice  of  a  child,  or  the  hum  of  a  bee  — 
The  somnolent  roll  of  the  deep-heaving  sea  — 
The  mountains  uprising  in  grandeur  and  might  — 
The  stars  that  look  forth  from  the  depths  of  the  night  — 
All  sprak  in  one  language,  jx^rsuasive  and  clear, 
To  him  who  in  spirit  is  waiting  to  hear. 
U 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

There  is  something  in  Nature  beyond  our  control, 
That  is  tenderly  winning  the  love  of  each  soul; 
We  shall  linger  no  longer  in  darkness  and  doubt, 
When  the  Beauty  within  meets  the  Beauty  without. 
Sweet  Spirit  of  Nature  !  wherever  thou  art, 
O,  fold  us  like  children,  close,  close  to  thy  heart  ; 
Till  we  learn  that  thy  bosom  is  Truth's  hallowed  shrine, 
And  the  Soul  of  the  Beautiful  is  —  the  Divine. 


(08) 

xnxjce  £ 

I  once  thought  that  heaven  was  made  for  the  few; 
That  God  was  as  vengeful  as  Moses  the  Jew; 
That  millions  were  doomed  at  his  bidding  to  dwell 
Within  the  dark  bounds  of  a  terrible  hell 
Where  hope  never  enters,  but  ring  on  the  air 
The  weepings  and  wailings  of  endless  despair. 

1  once  thought  the  Bible  was  God's  holy  Word  ; 

That  reason,  opposing,  should  never  be  heard: 

I  made  it  my  study,  my  every-day  care; 

Its  falsehoods  were  truth,  and  its  curses  were  prayer; 

To  doubt  was  a  crime,  that  could  ne'er  be  forgiven, 

And  faith  was  the  lever  that  raised  us  to  heaven. 


WHAT    I    ONTE    THOUGHT. 

I  once  thought  Jehovah  Creator  and  Lord, 
And,  bowed  at  his  footstool,  I  feared  and  adored : 
The  deeds  that  a  devil  might  blush  to  commit 
Believed  he  had  done,  for  the  Lord  thought  it  fit. 
The  law  of  right-doing,  I  never  dreamed  then 
Applied  unto  gods,  even  more  than  to  men. 

I  once  thought  that  death  was  a  monster  accurst, 

Of  evils  tho  greatest,  the  last,  and  the  worst; 

His  maw,  so  insatiate,  swallowed  our  race. 

And  left,  of  their  beauty  and  glory,  no  trace; 

The  grave  was  a  shadow-land,  cheered  by  no  spring, 

Where,  sat  on  his  ice-throne,  a  skeleton  king. 

I  once  thought  that  earth  was  a  valley  of  tears, — 
A  wilderness-world,  full  of  sorrows  and  fears; 
That  God's  curse  had  blasted  its  beauty  and  grace, 
And  poisoned  the  fairest  and  best  of  the  race. 
I  wept,  as  I  thought  of  this  horrible  ban, 
And  sorrowed  that  God  should  have  made  me  a  man. 
Fond  Tallies  of  childhood  ;  my  hope  in  you  fled  : 
Y<-  lit'  in  the  tomb,  with  the  dust-covered  dead. 

—  Den  ton. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 
(09) 

of 


Though  the  day  of  my  destiny  's  over, 

And  the  star  of  my  fate  hath  declined, 
Thy  soft  heart  refused  to  discover 

The  faults  which  so  many  could  find; 
Though  thy  soul  with  my  grief  was  acquainted 

It  shrunk  not  to  share  it  with  me, 
And  the  love  which  my  spirit  hath  painted 

It  never  hath  found  but  in  thee. 

Then  when  nature  around  me  is  smiling, 

The  last  smile  which  answers  to  mine, 
I  do  not  believe  it  beguiling, 

Because  it  reminds  me  of  thine; 
And  when  winds  are  at  war  with  the  ocean, 

As  the  breasts  I  believed  in  with  me, 
If  their  billows  excite  an  emotion, 

It  is  that  they  bear  me  from  thee. 

Though  the  rock  of  my  last  hope  is  shivered, 
And  its  fragments  are  sunk  in  the  wave, 

Though  I  feel  that  my  soul  is  delivered 
To  pain  —  it  shall  not  be  its  slave. 


FIDELITY    OF    WOMAN. 

There  is  many  a  pang  to  pursue  me  : 

They  may  crush,  but  they  shall  not  contemn  — 

They  may  torture,  but  shall  not  subdue  me  — 
'Tis  of  thec  that  1  think  —  not  of  them. 

Though  human,  thou  didst  not  deceive  me, 

Though  woman,  thou  didst  not  forsake, 
Though  loved,  thou  forborest  to  grieve  me, 

Though  slandered,  thou  never  couldst  shake,  — 
Though  trusted,  thou  didst  not  disclaim  me, 

Though  parted,  it  was  not  to  fly, 
Though  watchful,  'twas  not  to  defame  me, 

Nor  mute,  that  the  world  might  belie. 

Yet  I  blame  not  the  world,  nor  despise  it, 

Nor  the  war  of  the  many  with  one  — 
If  my  soul  was  not  fitted  to  prize  it, 

'Twas  folly  not  sooner  to  slum: 
And  if  dearly  that  error  hath  cost  me, 

And  more  than  I  once  could  foresee, 
I  have  found  that  whatever  it  lost  me, 

It  could  not  deprive  me  of  thee. 

Since  the  wreck  of  the  psisl,  which  h;ith  perished, 

Thin  much  1,  ;it  le.-ist,,  inay  recall, — 
It  has  taught  mo  that  which   I  most   cherished, 

to  l>c  <lr:uv<t  of  ;ill: 
14* 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

In  the  desert  a  fountain  is  springing, 
In  the  wide  waste  there  still  is  a  tree  — 

And  a  bird  in  the  solitude  singing, 
Which  speaks  to  my  spirit  of  thee. 

—  Byron. 


(70) 


Wherefore,  0,  ye  sons  of  sorrow  ! 

Do  ye  idly  sit  and  borrow 

Care  and  trouble  for  the  morrow  — 

Filling  up  your  cup  with  woe  ? 
Leave,  0,  leave  your  visions  dreary  ! 
Hush  your  doleful  miserere  ! 

See  the  lilies  how  they  grow  — 

Bending  down  their  heads  so  lowly, 
As  though  heaven  were  far  too  holy, 
Growing  patiently  and  slowly 

To  the  end  that  Good  designed. 
In  their  fragrance  and  their  beauty, 
Filling  up  their  sphere  of  duty  — 

Each  is  perfect  in  its  kind. 


TRESS    ONWARD. 

Deeper  than  all  sense  of  seeing, 
Lies  the  secret  source  of  being, 
And  the  soul  with  truth  agreeing, 

Learns  to  live  in  thoughts  and  deeds. 
For  the  life  is  more  than  raiment, 
And  the  earth  is  pledged  for  payment 

Unto  man,  for  all  his  needs. 

Nature  is  your  common  mother, 
Every  living  man  your  brother ; 
Therefore  love  and  serve  each  other ; 

Not  to  meet  the  law's  behest, 
But  because  through  cheerful  giving 
You  will  learn  the  art  of  living  ; 

And  to  love  and  serve  is  best. 

Life  is  more  than  what  man  fancies  — 
Not  a  game  of  idle  chances, 
But  it  steadily  advances 

Up  the  rugged  steeps  of  time, 
Till  man's  complex  web  of  trouble  — 
Kvcry  sad  hope's  broken  bubble, 

Hath  a  meaning  most  sublime. 

More  of  practice,  li-ss  profession. 
More  of  firmness,  less  com-,-.^,',,,,. 
.IA-/V  (}{  /'n'ii/i, m,  /c.s.v  oppression, 


SEVEN    DOZEN    OEMS. 

In  your  Church  and  in  your  State  ; 
More  of  life,  and  less  of  fashion, 
More  of  love,  and  less  of  passion  — 

That  will  make  you  good  and  great. 

When  true  hearts,  divinely  gifted, 
From  the  chaff  of  Error  sifted, 
On  their  crosses  are  uplifted, 

Shall  your  souls  most  clearly  see 
That  earth's  greatest  time  of  trial 
Calls  for  holy  self-denial  — 

Calls  on  men  to  do  and  be. 

But,  forever  and  forever, 
Let  it  be  your  soul's  endeavor, 
Love  from  hatred  to  dissever  ; 

And  in  whatsoe'er  ye  do  — 
Won  by  Truth's  eternal  beauty  — 
To  your  highest  sense  of  duty, 

Evermore  be  firm  and  true. 

—  Doten. 


THE    NEW    CHURCH    DOCTRINE. 
(71) 

glcxxr  ©TuivcTx  Jloctvinc. 

There's  come  a  sing'lar  doctrine,  Sue, 

Into  our  church  to-day; 
These  cur'us  words  are  what  the  new 

Young  preacher  had  to  say  : 
That  literal  everlastin'  fire 

Was  mostly  in  our  eye  ; 
That  sinners  dead,  if  they  desire, 

Can  get  another  try  ; 
He  doubted  if  a  warmer  clime 

Than  this  world  could  be  proved  ; 
The  little  snip  —  I  fear  some  time 

He'll  get  his  doubts  removed. 

I've  watched  my  duty,  straight  an'  true, 

An'  tried  to  do  it  well  ; 
Part  of  the  time  kept  heaven  in  view, 

An'  part  steered  clear  o'  hell; 
An'  now  half  of  this  work  is  naught, 

If  I  must  list  to  him, 
An'  this  'ere  devil  I  have  fought 

Was  only  just  a  whim; 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Vain  are  the  dangers  I  have  braved, 

The  sacrifice  they  cost; 
For  what  fun  is  it  to  be  saved 

If  no  one  else  is  lost  ? 

Just  think  !  —  Suppose,  when  once  I  view 

The  heavens  I've  toiled  to  win, 
A  lot  of  unsaved  sinners,  too, 

Comes  walkin'  grandly  in  ! 
An'  acts  to  home,  same  as  if  they 

Had  read  their  titles  clear, 
An'  looks  at  me,  as  if  to  say, 

"  We're  glad  to  see  you  here  !  " 
As  if  to  say,  "  While  you  have  been 

So  fast  to  toe  the  mark, 
We  waited  till  it  rained,  an'  then 

Got  tickets  for  the  ark  !  " 

Yet  there  would  be  some  in  that  crowd 

I'd  rather  like  to  see  : 
My  boy  Jack  —  it  must  be  allowed 

There  was  no  worse  than  he  ! 
I've  always  felt  somewhat  to  blame, 

In  several  different  ways, 
That  he  lay  down  on  thorns  o'  shame 

To  end  his  boyhood's  days; 


THE    NEW    CHURCH    DOCTRINE. 

An'  I'd  be  willin'  to  endure, 
If  that  the  Lord  thought  best, 

A  minute's  quite  hot  temperature, 
To  clasp  him  to  my  breast. 

Old  Captain  Barnes  was  evil's  son  — 

With  heterodoxy  crammed; 
I  used  to  think  he'd  be  the  one 

If  any  one  was  damned ; 
Still,  when  I  saw  a  lot  o'  poor 

That  he  had  clothed  and  fed, 
Cry  desolately  round  his  door 

As  soon  as  he  was  dead, 
There  came  a  thought  I  couldn't  control, 

That  in  some  neutral  land, 
IM  like  to  meet  that  scorched-up  soul 

An'  shake  it  by  the  hand. 

1'oor  Jennie  Willis,  with  a  cry 

Of  hopeless,  sail  distress, 
Sank  sudden  down,  one  night,  to  die, 

All  in  her  ball-room  dress; 
Sin-  had  a  precious  little  while 

To  pack  up  an'  away; 
She  even  Irft  her  sweet  good  smile  — 

'Twas  on  the  face  next  day  ; 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Her  soul  went  off  unclothed  by  even 

One  stitch  of  saving  grace; 
How  could  she  hope  to  go  to  heaven, 

An'  start  from  such  a  place  ? 

But  once,  when  I  lay  sick  an'  weak, 

She  came  an'  begged  to  stay; 
She  kissed  my  faded,  wrinkled  cheek  — 

She  soothed  my  pain  away; 
She  brought  me  sweet  bouquets  of  flowers 

As  fresh  as  her  young  heart  — 
Through  many  long  and  tedious  hours 

She  played  a  human  part ; 
An'  ere  I  long  will  stand  aroun' 

The  singin'  saints  among, 
I'll  try  to  take  some  water  down, 

To  cool  poor  Jennie's  tongue. 

But  tears  can  never  quench  my  creed, 

Nor  smooth  God's  righteous  frown, 
Though  all  the  preachers  learn  to  read 

Their  Bibles  upside  down. 
I  hold  mine  right  side  up  with  care 

To  shield  my  eyes  from  sin, 
An'  coax  the  Lord,  with  daily  prayer, 

To  call  poor  wanderers  in; 


CONSCIENCE    AND    FUTURE    JUDGMENT. 

But  if  the  sinners  won't  draw  nigh, 

An'  take  salvation's  plan, 
I'll  have  to  stand  an'  see  'em  try 

To  dodge  hell  if  they  can. 

—  Will  Carleton. 


(72) 

ami  gntnvz 

I  sat  alone  with  my  conscience, 

In  a  place  where  time  had  ceased, 
And  we  talked  of  my  former  living 

In  the  land  where  the  years  increased, 
And  I  felt  I  should  have  to  answer 

The  question  it  put  to  me, 
And  to  face  the  answer  and  question 

Throughout  all  eternity. 
The  ghosts  of  forgotten  actions 

Came  floating  before  my  si^ht. 
And  things  tliut  I  thought  were  dead  tilings 

Were  alive  with  a  terrible  might, 
And  the  vision  of  all  my  past  life 

\V;is  an  awful  thing  to  face.  — 
Alone  with  my  conscience  sitting 

In  that  solemnly  silent  place. 
II 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

And  I  thought  of  a  far-away  warning, 

Of  a  sorrow  that  was  to  be  mine, 
In  a  land  that  then  was  the  future, 

But  now  is  the  present  time. 
And  I  thought  of  my  former  thinking 

Of  the  judgment-day  to  be; 
But  sitting  alone  with  my  conscience 

Seemed  judgment  enough  for  me. 
And  I  wondered  if  there  was  a  future 

To  this  land  beyond  the  grave; 
But  no  one  gave  me  an  answer, 

And  no  one  came  to  save. 
Then  I  felt  that  the  future  was  present, 

And  the  present  would  never  go  by,  — 
For  it  was  but  the  thought  of  my  past  life 

Grown  into  eternity. 
Then  I  woke  from  my  timely  dreaming, 

And  the  vision  passed  away, 
And  I  knew  the  far-away  warning 

Was  a  warning  of  yesterday,  — 
And  I  pray  that  I  may  not  forget  it 

In  this  land  before  the  grave, 
That  1  may  not  cry  in  the  future, 

And  no  one  come  to  save. 
And  so  I  have  learned  a  lesson, 

Which  I  ought  to  have  known  before, 


ONLY    A    DOG. 

And  which,  though  I  learned  it  dreaming, 

I  hope  to  forget  no  more. 
So  I  sit  alone  with  my  conscience, 

In  the  place  where  the  years  increase, 
And  I  try  to  remember  the  future 

In  the  land  where  time  shall  cease; 
And  1  know  of  the  future  judgment, 

How  dreadful  so  e'er  it  be, 
THAT  TO  SIT  ALONE  WITH  MY  CONSCIENCE 

WlLL  BE  JUDGMENT  ENOUGH  FOR  ME  ! 


(73) 

a  1)00. 

8.    B. X.    E.    8. 

Only  a  dog."     You  wonder  why 
I  grieve  so  much  to  see  him  die. 

Ah  !  if  you  knew 
1  low  true  a  friend  a  dog  can  be, 
Ami  what  a  friend  he  was  to  me 

When  friends  were  few. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

"  Only  a  dog  —  a  beast,"  you  sneer; 
"  Not  worthy  of  a  sigh  or  tear," 

Speak  not  to  me 

Such  falsehood  of  my  poor  dumb  friend 
While  I  have  language  to  defend 
His  memory. 

Through  ups  and  downs,  through  thick  and  thin, 
My  boon  companion  he  has  been 

For  years  and  years. 
He  journeyed  with  me  miles  and  miles, 
I  gave  him  frowns,  I  gave  him  smiles, 

And  now,  sad  tears. 

Before  my  children  came,  his  white 
Soft  head  was  pillowed  every  night 

Upon  my  breast. 
So  let  him  lie  just  one  time  more 
Upon  my  bosom  as  before, 

And  take  his  rest. 

And  when  a  tenderer  love  awoke, 
The  first  sweet  word  my  baby  spoke 

Was  "M-a-t."      Poor  Mat ! 
Could  I  no  other  reason  tell, 
My  mother's  heart  would  love  you  well, 

For  only  that. 


ONLY    A    DOG. 

Together  boy  and  dog  have  laid 
Upon  my  lap,  together  played 

Around  my  feet, 

Till  laugh  and  bark  together  grew 
So  much  alike,  I  scarcely  knew 

Which  was  most  sweet. 

Ah!  go  away,  and  let  me  cry, 
For  now  you  know  the  reason  why 

I  loved  him  so. 

Leave  me  alone  to  close  his  eyes, 
That  looked  so  wistful  and  so  wise, 

Trying  to  know. 

At  garden-gate  or  open  door 
You'll  run  to  welcome  me  no  more, 

Dear  little  friend. 

You  were  so  kind,  so  good  and  true, 
I  question,  looking  down  at  you, 

Is  this  the  end  ? 

la  there  for  you  no  "  other  side  ?" 
No  home  beyond  Death's  chilly  tide 

And  heavy  fog, 
Where  meekness  and  fidelity 
Will  meet  reward,  although  you  be 

Only  a  dog  ? 
15* 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

"  He  has  no  soul."     How  know  you  that? 
What  have  we  now  that  was  not  Mat, 

Save  idle  speech  ? 
If  from  the  Bible  I  can  read 
Him  soulless,  then  I  own  no  creed 

The  preachers  preach. 

My  dog  had  love,  and  hope,  and  joy, 
As  much  as  had  my  baby  boy  — 

Intelligence ; 

Could  smell,  see,  hear,  and  suffer  pain, 
What  makes  a  soul  if  these  are  vain? 

When  I  go  hence 

'Tis  my  belief  my  dog  will  be 
Among  the  first  to  welcome  me, 

Believing  that, 

I  keep  his  collar  and  his  bell, 
And  do  not  say  to  him  farewell, 

But  good-bye  Mat, 

Dear  faithful  Mat. 

—  Pearl  Rivers. 


BUILDING    UPON    THE    SAND. 

(74) 

iiUuUUnn  mpon  the 

8.    B. —  X.    E.    S. 

Tis  well  to  woo,  'tis  well  to  wed, 

For  so  the  world  has  done 
Since  myrtles  grew  and  roses  blew, 

And  morning  brought  the  sun. 

But  have  a  care,  ye  young  and  fair, 

Be  sure  ye  pledge  with  truth ; 
Be  certain  that  your  love  will  wear 

Beyond  the  days  of  youth. 

For  if  ye  give  not  heart  to  heart, 

As  well  as  hand  for  hand, 
You'll  find  you've  played  the  "  unwise  part," 

And  "built  upon  the  sand." 

'Tis  well  to  save,  'tis  well  to  have 

A  goodly  store  of  gold, 
And  hold  enough  of  sterling  stuff, 

For  charity  is  cold. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

But  place  not  all  your  hopes  and  trust 

In  what  the  deep  mine  brings; 
We  cannot  live  on  yellow  dust, 

Unmixed  with  purer  things. 

And  he  who  piles  up  wealth  alone 

Will  often  have  to  stand 
Beside  his  coffer-chest,  and  own 

Tis  "built  upon  the  sand." 

'Tis  good  to  speak  in  kindly  guise, 

And  soothe  whate'er  we  can; 
For  speech  should  bind  the  human  mind, 

And  love  link  man  to  man. 

But  stay  not  at  the  gentle  words; 

Let  deeds  with  language  dwell; 
The  one  who  pities  starving  birds 

Should  scatter  crumbs  as  well. 

The  mercy  that  is  warm  and  true 

Must  lend  a  helping  hand; 
For  those  who  talk,  yet  fail  to  do, 

But  "build  upon  the  sand." 

—  Eliza  Cook. 


TOBY. 


(75) 


BY    FLORENCE    PERCY. 

He  was  my  fondest  friend  —  and  he  is  dead  — 
Dead  in  the  ripened  fullness  of  his  prime, 
Lost  to  my  seeing  for  all  coming  time  ; 
Now,  ere  oblivion  close  above  his  head, 
Let  me  look  back  across  our  mingled  years, 
And  count  if  he  was  worth  this  heartache  and  these 
tears. 

Purer  devotion,  steadier  truth  than  his, 

Not  even  the  most  exacting  heart  could  crave; 
Demanding  little,  all  he  had  he  gave, 
Nor  wronged  his  love  by  doubts  and  jealousies, 
But  kopt  his  constant  faith  unto  the  end, 
Kind,  loyal,  trusting,  brave,  a  true  ideal  friend. 

I  !«•  never  joined  the  venial  sordid  race 
Of  politicians  mad  with  selfish  gree<l; 
He  never  did  a  vile,  uncleanly  deed 

To  in  fin  or  \v<>man;  envied  no  one's  place, 

Nor  \vrongeil  u  mortal  of  a  penny's  worth. 

Should  he  not  rank  among  the  rare  ones  of  the  earth? 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

He  never  sought  the  revels  of  the  gay, 

Nor  strayed  where  fatal  follies  spread  their  snare  ; 

He  loved  the  home-light,  and  the  fireside  chair, 
When  daytime's  crowding  cares  were  shut  away. 
And  there,  with  all  he  loved  in  easy  reach, 
lie  talked  with  soft  brown  eyes  more  eloquent  than  speech. 

Yet  scores  of  wise  men  argue  and  declare 

That  this,  my  friend,  was  but  a  pinch  of  dust; 
That  his  warm  heart  of  constancy  and  trust 

Has  gone  out  like  a  bubble  in  the  air; 

That  his  true  soul  of  love  and  watchful  care 

Is  quenched,  extinct,  and  lost,  and  is  not  anywhere. 

"He  had  no  soul,"  they  say.     What  was  his  power 
Of  love,  remembrance,  gratitude,  and  hope? 
Do  these  not  triumph  over  time  and  death, 

And  far  outlast  our  lifetime's  little  hour? 

Affection,  changeless  though  long  cycles  roll, 

Integrity  and  trust  —  do  these  not  make  the  soul  ? 

If  these  high  attributes  in  sinful  men 
Make  up  the  sum  of  immortality, 
Outlive  all  life  and  time,  and  land  and  sea, 
Unfading,  deathless  —  wherefore  is  it,  then, 
They  are  contemned  by  church  and  synagogue, 
When  they  inspire  and  warm   the  bosom  of  a  dog  ? 


THE    CREED. 

If  baser  spirits  last,  can  it  be  true 

That  his  dissolved  to  nothing  when  he  died  ? 
Wherever  love  lives,  must  not  his  abide  ? 

Where  hope  dwells,  shall  his  hope  not  enter  too  ? 

True  hearts  are  few,  and  heaven  is  not  so  small. 

Oh  !  fond  and  faithful  friend,  but  it  can  hold  them 
all! 

I  have  lost  many  a  friend,  but  never  one 
So  patient,  steadfast,  and  sincere  as  he, 
So  unforgetful  in  his  constancy; 

Ah,  when  at  last  my  long  day's  work  is  done, 

Shall  I  not  find  him  waiting  an  of  yore, 

/,'"'/«.T,  expectant,  glad  to  meet  me  at  the  door  .' 


(76) 


ELLA  WHKKLEH. 

\\'/«>cvcr  was  begotten  l»y  jn/n- 
And  caiiu1  <//•*//•<•</  and  welcome  into  ' 
/•>  of  uiuiKicnlati'  conception,     !!>• 

Whose  h.-art   is  full  of  tenderness  and  truth, 
Who  loves  mankind  more  than  lie  loves  Himself, 
And  eaniio    lin.l  room  in  his  heart  for  hate, 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

May  be  another  Christ.      We  all  may  be 
The  saviours  of  the  world,  if  we  believe 
In  the  divinity  which  dwells  in  us 
And  worship  it,  and  nail  our  grosser  selves, 
Our  tempers,  greeds,  and  our  unworthy  aims, 
Upon  the  cross.     Who  giveth  love  to  all, 
Pays  kindness  for  unkindness,  smiles  for  frowns, 
And  lends  new  courage  to  each  fainting  heart, 
And  strengthens  hope  and  scatters  joy  abroad, 
He,  too,  is  a  redeemer,  son  of  God. 


(77) 

ee 


DOAR  SHAW. 

'  Twas  a  morning  in  June,  and  the  roses,  each  one, 
Turned  up  its  soft  cheek  for  a  kiss  from  the  sun  ; 
And  the  violet,  wooed  by  the  breeze  that  stole  by, 
Purpled  over  with  shame,  while  a  tear  in  its  eye 
Seemed  its  only  reproof,  and  it  bowed  to  the  sod 
Asa  worshiper  bows  at  the  name  of  his  God  — 
When  a  maiden,  with  fingers  bejeweled  with,  dew, 
Stooped  to  fasten  the  strings  of  her  darling  wee  shoe. 
Oh,  the  maiden  was  lithe  and  the  maiden  was  fair  ; 
The  laburnum  was  dim  to  the  gold  of  her  hair  ; 


THE    DARLING    WEE    SHOE. 

And  the  pale-faced  lily,  if  it  could  but  speak, 
Would  say  how  it  envied  the  rose  of  her  cheek  ; 
And  the  lark,  'mid  his  song,  would  fold  up  his  brown 

wing, 

To  list  her  glad  voice  with  its  mellow-toned  ring ; 
And  the  fragile  mimosa  no  tremor  e'er  knew 
At  the  fall  of  that  foot  in  its  darling  wee  shoe. 
<  Hi,  that  foot  was  so  slender,  that  foot  was  so  small ! 
Soft  as  voices  of  air  was  the  sound  of  its  fall, 
And,  as  it  drew  nearer,  a  strange  nameless  fear 
Then  thrilled  through  my  heart,  till  its  throbs  I  could 

hear, 

And  blushes,  like  lightning  flashed  up  to  my  cheek, 
When  this  maiden  so  fair,  ope'd  her  red  lips  to  spe-tk, 
And  begged  me  to  bind,  what  the  breeze  would  undo, 
The  ribbons  which  fastened  that  darling  wee  shoe. 
Of  that  task  were  eti.-mioivd  my  lingers,  I  ween, 
F<>r  they  linger  full  long  o'er  those  fetters  of  sheen 
Which  fluttered  like  birds  but  just  caught,  in  a  snare, 
While  more  silent  and  calm  grew  the  maiden  so  fair  ; 
She  smiled  me  her  thanks,  and  turned  from  the  spot 
With  a  look  in  her  blue  eyes  I   never  forgot, 
For  it  seemed  to  say  in  a  language  too  true  : 
"Tliou'st    fettered  thy  heart  in    the   strings  of    my 

shoe  !  " 

Well.  I  loved  and  I  wedded  this  maiden  so  fair  ; 
16 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

But  the  cold  dews  of  Death  fell  one  night  on  her  hair, 
And  dimmed  its  bright  gold  ;  and  they  fell  on  her 

cheek  : 
Silent  grew  the  dear  lips  that  such  fond  words  could 

speak. 

"  My  feet  are  aweary,"  it  seemed  as  she'd  say, 
"That  have  trod  with  thee,   darling,   life's  flowery 

way  ; 

Oh,  stoop  thee  again,  and.  1  prithee,  undo  — 
My  feet  are  aweary  —  the  strings  of  my  shoe." 
Oh,  that  foot  was  so  slender,  that  foot  was  so  cold  ! 
Not  the  rose-tinted  thing  that  had  charmed  me  of  old  ; 
I  bathed  it  with  tears  but  1  could  not  restore 
Its  motion  so  bounding  ;  nay,  its  fleetness  was  o'er  ; 
Nevermore  would  it  meet  me  at  morning,  at  night, 
Or  wander  'mong  flowers  that  loved  it  like  light, 
For  together  stooped  Death  and  myself  to  undo 
The  ribbons  that  fastened  that  darling  wee  shoe. 
Calm  she  sleeps  in  the  grave-yard,  this  maiden  so  fair. 
And  her  favorite  flowers  are  blossoming  there: 
There  the  sweet  lady-slipper  springs  up  in  its  pride, 
Pitting  type  of  the  wee  one  who  lay  by  my  side  ! 
Did  I  say  in  the  church-yard  she  sleeps?  No,  ah,  no  ! 
For  star-crowned  in  heaven  she  clwelleth,  I  know  ; 
And  light,  silvery  sandals,  which  Death  cannot  undo, 
She  weareth  in  the  place  of  that  darling  wee  shoe. 


TWIN-lioKN.  —  PBOOB 


(78) 


lie  wlio  po>sesses  virtue  at  its  best, 

Or  «••!•(  ';iii  icss  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word, 

I  IMS  oni'  day  started  even  with  that  herd 

Whose  swift  feet  now  speed,  but  at  sin's  behest. 

It  is  the  same  force  in  the  human  breast 

Whicli  makes  men  gods  or  demons.     If  we  gird 

Those  strong  emotions  by  which  we  are  stirred 

With  might  of  will  and  purpose,  heights  unguessed 

Shall  draw  for  us  ;  or  if  we  give  them  sway 

We  can  sink  down  and  consort,  with  the  lost. 

All  virtue  is  worth  just  the  price  it  cost. 

Black  sin  is  oft  white  truth,  that  missed  its  way, 

And  wandered  oil'  in  paths  not  understood. 

Twin-born  I  hold  great  evil  and  great  good. 

—  Ella    \\'h,'<in: 


(7H) 


Let  there  lie  many  windows  to  your  soul, 
That  all  the  glorv  of  the  universe 
May  beautify  it.     Not  the  narrow  pane 
Of  one  poor  creed  can  catch  the  radiant  ray- 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

That  shine  from  countless  sources.     Tear  away 
The  blinds  of  superstition  ;  let  the  light 
Pour  through  fair  windows  broad  as 
Truth  itself  and  high  as  God. 

Why  should  the  spirit  peer 

Through  some  priest-curtained  orifice  and  grope 
Al,ong  dim  corridors  of  doubt,  when  all 
The  splendor  from  unfathomed  seas  of  space 
Might  bathe  it  with  the  golden  waves  of  Love  ? 
Sweep  up  the  debris  of  decaying  faiths  ; 
Sweep  down  the  cobwebs  of  worn-out  beliefs, 
And  throw  your  soul  wide  open  to  the  light 
Of  reason  and  of  Knowledge.     Tune  your  ear 
To  all  the  wordless  music  of  the  stars 
And  to  the  voice  of  Nature,  and  your  heart 
Shall  turn  to  truth  and  goodness,  as  the  plant  turns 

to  the  sun. 

A  thousand  unseen  hands 
Reach   down  to   help   you   to  their   peace-crowned 

heights, 

And  all  the  forces  of  the  firmament 
Shall  fortify  your  strength.     Be  not  afraid 
To  thrust  aside  half-truths  and  grasp  the  whole. 

—  Ella    Wheeler. 


THE    VISION    OF    IMMORTALITY. 

[80] 

The  'iHsion  of  Immo 

E.    P.    WESTON. 

I  who  essayed  to  sing  in  earlier  days, 
The  'riiniKttiijmis  and    Tin'  Hi/mn  in  Death, 
Wake  now  (lie  Hymn  to  Immortality! 
Yet  once  again,  oh  !  man,  come  forth  and  view 
Tin1  haunts  of   nature:   walk  the  waving  fields, 
Knter  the  silent  groves,  or  pierce  again 
The  depths  of  the  untrodden  wilderness, 
And  she  shall  teach  thee.     Thou  hast  learned  before 
One,  lesson — and  her  Hymn  of  Death  hath  fallen 
With  melancholy  sweetness  on  thine  ear, 
Yet  she  shall  tell  thee  with  a  myriad  tongue 
That,  ///'•  is  there  —  life  in  uncounted  forms  — 
Stealing  in  silence  through  the  hidden  roots, 
In  every  liranch  that  swings — in  the  green  leaves 
And  waving  grain,  and  the  gay  summer  flowers 
That  gladden  the  Leholder.      Listen  now, 
And  she  shall  teach  thee  that,  the  dead  have  slept 
I'ut.  to  awaken  in  more  glorious  forms  — 
And  that  the  mystery  of  the  seed's  decav 
Is  hut  the  promise  of   the  coming  life. 
16* 


SEVEN    DOZEN   GEMS. 

They  of  immortal  fame,  and  they  whose  praise 

Was  never  sounded  in  the  ears  of  men,  — 

All  the  vast  concourse  in  the  halls  of  death,  — 

Shall  waken  from  the  dreams  of  silent  years 

To  hail  the  dawn  of  the  immortal  day. 

Aye,  learn  the  lesson  !     Though  the  worm  shall  be 

Thy  brother  in  the  mystery  of  death, 

And  all  shall  pass,  humble  and  proud  and  gay 

Together,  to  earth's  mighty  charnel-house, 

Yet  the  immortal  is  thy  heritage  ! 

The  grave  shall  gather  thee:  yet  thou  shalt  cotne, 

Beggar  or  prince,  not  as  thou  wentest  forth, 

In  rags  or  purple,  but  arrayed  as  tho<^ 

Whose  mortal  put  on  immortality  !     ^ 

Then  mourn  not  when  thou  markest 


Of  nature,  and  her  solemn  hymn  of  d 

Steals  with  a  note  of  sadness  to  thy  heart. 

That  other  voice,  with  its  rejoicing  tones,      *^ 

Breaks  from  the  mould  with  every  bursting  Trower, 

"  O  grave  !  thy  victory  !  "     And  thou,  oh,  man  ! 

Burdened  with  sorrow  at  the  woes  which 

Thy  narrow  heritage,  lift  up  thy  head 

In  the  strong  hope  of  the  undying  life, 

And  shout  the  Hymn  to  Immortality. 

The  dear  departed  that  have  passed  away 


THE    VISION   OF    IMMORTALITY. 

To  the  still  house  of  death,  leaving  thine  own, 
The  gray-haired  sire  that  died  in  blessing  thee, 
Mother,  or  sweet-lipped  babe,  or  she  who  gave 
Thy  home  the  light  and  bloom  of  Paradise, — 
They  shall  be  thine  again,  when  thou  shalt  pass 
At  God's  appointment,  through  the  shadowy  vale, 
To  reach  the  sunlight  of  the  Immortal  Hills. 
And  thou  that  gloriest  to  lie  down  with  kings, 
Thine  uncrowned  head  no  lowlier  than  theirs. 
Seek  thou  the  loftier  glory  to  be  known 
A  king  and  priest  to  God  !  —  when  thou  shalt  pass 
Forth  from  these  silent  halls  to  take  thy  place 
With  patriarchs  and  prophets  and  the  blest 
( lone  up  from  every  land  to  people  heaven. 
So  live,  that  when  the  mighty  caravan, 
Which  halts  one  night-time  in  the  vale  of  Death, 
Shall  strike  its  white  tents  for  the  morning  march, 
Thou  shalt  mount  onward  to  the  Eternal  Hills, 
Thy  foot  unwearied,  and  thy  strength  renewed 
Like  the  strong  eagle's  for  the  upward  flight! 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 


(81) 


In  man  1  love  all  that  is  noble  and  great; 

But  war,  and  oppression,  and  falsehood  I  hate; 

And  oft  has  my  spirit  burst  forth  into  song 

Against  ev'ry  species  of  riot  and  wrong. 

I'm  a  pleader  for  Freedom  in  every  form, 

For  my  country  I  feel  patriotic  and  warm  ; 

Yet  still  I've  no  wish  to  disorder  the  land 

By  the  flame  of  the  torch,  or  the  flash  of  the  brand. 

I  'm  for  movements  more  gentle,  more  certain,  in  oooth 

The  movement  of  morals,  the  triumph  of  truth  ; 

And  my  hopes  are  that  men,   who  are  toiling  and 

grieving, 
May  make  this  old  earth  like  the  Heaven  they  believe 

in. 

My  religion  is  love;   'tis  the  best  and  the  purest  ! 
My  temple  the  universe,  —  widest  and  surest  ! 
I  worship  my  God  through  his  works,  which  are  fair, 
And  the  joy  of  my  thoughts  is  perpetual  prayer  ! 
I  wake  to  new  life  with  the  coming  of  spring, 
When  the  lark  is  aloft  with  a  fetterless  wing, 
When  the  rainbow  of  April  expands  o'er  the  plain, 
And  a  blessing  comes  down  in  the  drops  of  the  rain. 


LOVK    uK     NAT!  KK. 

When  Summer,  in  fullness  of  beauty  is  born, 
I  love  to  go  forth  at  the  first  blush  of  morn, 
To  pause  in  the  field  where  the  mower  so  blithe 
Keeps  time  with  a  song  to  the  stroke  of  his  scythe. 
In  the  calm  reign  of  Autumn  I'm  happy  to  roam. 
When  the  peasant  exults  in  a  full  harvest  home  ; 
When  the  boughs  of  the  orchard  with  fruitage  incline, 
And  the  clusters  are  ripe  on  the  stem  of  the  vine. 
Kven  Winter  to  me  hath  a  thousand  delights, 
With  its  short  gloomy  days,  and  its  long  starry  nights  ! 
And  I  long  to  go  forth,  ere  the  dawn,  to  inhale 
The  health-giving  freshness  that  floats  on  the  gale, 
When  the  Spirit  of  Nature  has  folded  its  wings 
To  nourish  the  seeds  of  all  glorious  things, 
Till  the  herb,  and  the  leaf,  the  fruit  and  the  flower, 
Shall  awake  in  the  fullness  of  beauty  and  power  ! 
There's  a  harvest  of  knowledge  in  all  that  I  see, 
For  a  stone,  or  a  leaf,  is  a  treasure  to  me. 
There's  the  magic  of  music  in  every  sound, 
And  the  soft  arms  of  beauty  encircle  me  round, 
Till  the  soft-swelling  joy  that   I  fancy  and  feel 
Is  more  than  the  language  of  song  can  reveal. 
Did  ( !«d  set  His  fountains  of  light  in  the  skies. 
That  man  should  look  up  with  tears  in  his  eyes? 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Did  God  make  this  earth  so  abundant  and  fair 
That  man  should  look  down  with  a  groan  of  despair  ? 
Away  with  so  heartless,  so  joyless  a  creed, 
The  soul  that  believes  it,  is  darkened  indeed  — 

—  J  ('rich ley  Prince. 


(82) 
j&tUttitmujs. 


Let  him  not  boast  who  puts  his  armor  on 

As  he  who  puts  it  off,  the  battle  done. 

Study  yourselves  ;  and  most  of  all  note  well' 

Wherein  kind  Nature  meant  you  to  excel, 

Not  every  blossom  ripens  into  fruit; 

Minerva,  the  inventress  of  the  flute, 

Flung  it  aside,  when  she  her  face  surveyed, 

Distorted  in  a  fountain  as  she  played; 

The  unlucky  Marsyas  found  it.  and  his  fate 

Was  one  to  make  the  bravest  hesitate. 

Write  on  your  doors  the  saying  wise  and  old, 

"  Be  bold  !  be  bold  !  "  and  everywhere  —  "Be  bold  ; 

Be  not  too  bold  !  "     Yet  better  the  excess 

Than  the  defect;  better  the  more  than  less; 


MOR1TURI    SALUTAMI  S. 

1  letter  like  Hector  in  the  field  to  die, 

Than  like  a  perfumed  Paris  turn  and  ily. 

.     .     .     .     Nothing  is  too  late 

Till  the  tired  heart  shall  cease  to  palpitate. 

Cato  learned  Greek  at  eighty;  Sophocles 

Wrote  his  grand  .Edipus,  and  Simonides 

IJore  off  the  prize  of  verse  from  his  compeers 

When  each  had  numbered  more  than   fourscoie 

years. 

And  Theophrastus.  at  fourscore  and  ten, 
I  hul  but  begun  his  Characters  of  Men; 
Chaucer,  at  Woodstock  with  the  nightingales, 
At  sixty  wrote  the  Canterbury  Tales, 
Goethe  at  Weimar,  toiling  to  the  last, 
Completed  Faust  when  eighty  years  were  past. 
These  are  indeed  exceptions;  but  they  show 
How  far  the  gulf-stream  of  our  youth  may  flow 
Into  the  arctic  regions  of  our  lives, 
Where  little  else  than  life  itself  survives. 
As  the  barometer  foretells  the  storm 
While  still  the  skies  are  clear,  the  weathei  warm, 
So  something  ///  //.v,  as  old  age  draw/,  near, 
lid  rays  tin-  pressure  of   the  atmosphere; 
The  nimble  mercury,  ere  we  are  aware, 
De.-celids  the  elastic  ladder  of   the  air; 
The  telltale  blood    in  artery  ami  vein, 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Sinks  from  its  higher  levels  in  the  brain; 
Whatever  poet,    orator,  or  sage 
May  say  of  it,  old  age  is  still  old  age. 
It  is  the  waning,  not  the  crescent  morn, 
The  dusk  of  evening,  not  the  blaze  of  noon; 
It  is  not  strength,  but  weakness;  not  desire, 
But  its  surcease  ;  not  the  fierce  heat  of  fire, 
The  burning  and  consuming  element, 
But  that  of  ashes  and  of  embers  spent, 
In  which  some  living  sparks  we  still  discern, 
Enough  to  warm,  but  not  enough  to  burn. 
What  then  ?     Shall  we  sit  idly  down  and  say 
The  night  hath  come;  it  is  no  longer  day? 
The  night  hath  not  yet  come;  we  are  not  quite 
Cut  off  from  labor  by  the  failing  light; 
Something  remains  for  us  to  do  or  dare; 
Even  the  oldest  tree  some  fruit  may  bear ; 
Not  (Edipus  Coloneus,  or  Greek  ode, 
Or  tales  of  pilgrims  that  one  morning  rode 
Out  of  the  gateway  of  the  Tabard  Inn, 
But  other  something,  would  we  but  begin; 
For  age  is  opportunity  no  less 
Than  youth  itself,  though  in  another  dress, 
And  as  the  evening  twilight  fades  away 
The  sky  is  filled  with  stars,  invisible  by  day. 

—  Longfelloiv. 


TIIAMATOPSIS. 


Thunutopsis. 

BRYANT. 

To  him,  who,  in  the  love  of  Nature,  holds 
Communion  with  her  visible  forms,  she  speaks 
A  various  language;  for  his  gayer  hours 
She  has  a  voice  of  gladness,  and  a  smile 
And  eloquence  of  beauty  ;  and  she  glides 
Into  his  darker  musings  with  a  mild 
And  gentle  sympathy  that  steals  away 
Their  sharpness  ere  he  is  aware.     When  thoughts 
Of  the  last  bitter  hour  come  like  a  blight 
Over  thy  spirit,  and  sad  images 
Of  the  stern  agony,  and  shroud,  and  pall, 
And  breathless  darkness,  and  the  narrow  house, 
Make  thee  to  shudder  and  grow  sick  at  heart, 
Go  forth  unto  the  open  sky,  and  list 
To  Nature's  teachings,  while  from  all  around  — 
Earth  and  her  waters,  and  the  depths  of  air  — 
<  'miies  a  still  voice;  Yet  a  few  days,  and  thee 
The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 
In  all  his  course;  nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground, 
Whore  thy  pale  form  was  laid  with  many  tears, 
Nor  in  the  embrace  of  ocean,  shall  exist 
17 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

Thy  image.     Earth,  that  nourished  thee,  shall  claim 

Thy  growth  to  be  resolved  to  earth  again, 

And,  lost  each  human  trace,  surrendering  up 

Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go 

To  mix  forever  with  the  elements; 

To  be  a  brother  to  the  insensible  rock, 

And  to  the  sluggish  clod  which  the  rude  swain 

Turns  with  his  share  and  treads  upon.     The  oak 

Shall  send  his  roots  abroad,  and  pierce  thy  mould. 

Yet  not  to  thy  eternal  resting-place 
Shalt  thou  retire  alone, —  nor  couldst  thou  wish 
Couch  more  magnificent.     Thou  shalt  lie  down 
With  patriarchs  of  the  infant  world, —  with  kings, 
The  powerful  of  the  earth, —  the  wise,  the  good, 
Fair  forms  and  hoary  seers  of  ages  past, 
All  in  one  mighty  sepulcher.     The  hills, 
Rock-ribbed  and  ancient  as  the  sun;  the  vales, 
Stretching  in  pensive  quietness  between; 
The  venerable  woods;  rivers  that  move 
In  majesty,  and  the  complaining  brooks, 
That  make  the  meadows  green;  and,  poured  round 

all, 

Old  ocean's  gray  and  melancholy  waste, — 
Are  but  the  solemn  decorations  all 
Of  the  great  tomb  of  man.     The  golden  sun, 
The  planets,  all  the  infinite  host  of   heaven, 


THANATOPS1S. 

Arc  shining  on  the  sad  abodes  of  death 
Through  the  still  lapse  of  ages.     All  that  tread 
The  globe  are  but  a  handful  to  the  tribes 
That  slumber  in  its  bosom.     Take  the  wings 
Of  morning,  and  the  Barcan  desert  pierce, 
Or  lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 
Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound 
.Save  his  own  dashings, — yet  the  dead  are  there. 
And  millions  in  those  solitudes,  since  first 
The  flight  of  years  began,  have  laid  them  down 
In  their  last  sleep;  —  the  dead  reign  (here  alone. 
So  shalt  thou  rest;  and  what  if  thou  withdraw 
In  silence  from  the  living,  and  no  friend 
Take  note  of  thy  departure?     All  that  breathe 
Will  share  thy  destiny.     The  gay  will  laugh 
When  thou  art  gone,  the  solemn  brood  of  care 
Plod  on,  and  each  one,  as  before,  will  chase 
His  favorite  phantom;  yet  all  these  shall  leave 
Their  mirth  and  tbeir  employments,  and  shall  come 
And  make  their  bed  with  thee.     As  the  long  train 
Of  ages  glide  away,  the  sons  of  men  — 
The  youth  in  life's  green  spring,  and  he  who  goes 
In  the  full  strength  of  years,  matron  and  maid, 
The  bowed  with  age,  the  infiint  in  the  smiles 
And  beauty  of  its  innocent  :ige  cut  off  — 
Shall  one  by  one  be  gathered  to  thy  side 


SEVEN    DOZEN   GEMS. 

By  those  who  in  their  turn  shall  follow  them. 

So  live,  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan  that  moves 
To  that  mysterious  realm,  where  each  shall  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death, 
Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry-slave  at  night, 
Scourged  to  his  dungeon,  but,  sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave 
Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. 


WM.    II.    HOLCOMBE. 

Beneath  the  glory  of   a  brighter  sun 

Than  that  which  keeps  this  moving  globe  of  dust 

True  to  its  orbit,  and  with  vision  fed 

By  spiritual  light  and  wisdom  sent  from  God, 

I  sought  for  death  throughout  the  universe  — 

If  haply  I  might  note  the  dreaded  being 

Who  casts  such  awful  shadows  on  our  hearts, 

And  seems  to  break,  with  his  discordant  step, 

The  harmonies  of  nature.     But  in  vain 


XK\V    THANATOPSIS. 

I  scanned  the  range  of  substance  infinite 

From  God  to  Angels,  and  through  men  to  earth. 

To  beast,  bird,  serpent,  and  the  ocean  tril>es, 

To  worms  and  flowers,  and  the  atomic  forms 

Of  crystalline  Creations.      Change  had  been. 

/'<Tj»fu<if  n-iihi/inn  and  fresh  life, 

And  metamorphoses  to  higher  states  — 

An  orderly  progress,  like  the  building  up 

Of  pyramids  from  earth's  material  base 

Into  the  fields  of  sunlight  —  BUT  NO  DKATII. 

With  deep  solemnity  akin  to  fear, 

I  pondered  o'er  the  elemental  world, 

That  seeming  chaos,  but  its  bosom  held 

No  embryonic  forms  but  those  of  life; 

Nor  did  the  spiritual  origin  of  things 

Elude  my  recognition  in  the  ma/.e 

Of  chemic  transformations.     Then  1  rend 

The  geologic  leaves  of  stone  sublime, 

Immortal  book  in  an  immortal  tongue, 

/-'ill/  «f  nii/xti-riniis  life.     And  then  1  looked 

Into  the  dark  mausoleums  of  the  past, 

And  up  the  swift  and  shadowy  stream  of  Time. 

Upon  whose  banks  nations  and  mm  ;in-  said 

To  have  perished.      And  I  turned  the  teeming  soil 

Of  all  the  battle-fields  of  every  age. 

Peered  into  charnels,  tracked  the  desolate 


SEVEN   DOZEN    OEMS. 

Of  plague  and  famine,  and  surveyed  with  awe 
The  secrets  of  the  sea  —  but  FOUND  NO  DEATH. 
To  spirits,  the  veil  of  whose  material  temple 
Is  rent  in  twain,  and  who  are  capable 
Of  purer  thought  and  more  interior  life, 
His  name  and  nature  are  alike  unknown. 
Throughout  the  choral  harmony  of  things, 
And  all  the  vast  economy  of  God, 
He  has  no  place  or  power.     THERE  is  NO  DEATH  ! 
God,  God  alone,  is  Life;  and  all  our  life, 
And  all  the  varying  substance  of  the  world, 
From  Him  derived,  and  vitalized  by  Him; 
And  every  change  which  we  ascribe  to  Death 
Is  but  a  change  in  form  or  place  or  state, 
Of  something  which  can  never  cease  to  live,. 
Insensate  matter  is  the  base  of  all, 
The  pedestal  of  life,  the  supple  mould 
Through  which  the  vital  currents  come  and  go. 
The  universe,  with  its  infinity, 
Is  but  the  visible  garment  of  our  God ; 
The  sun  is  but  the  garment  of  our  heavens ; 
The  body  is  the  garment  of  our  soul. 
The  coarse  material  out-birth  of  its  life, 
Its  medium  for  a  time,  a  shell  which  keeps 
Within  its  curves  the  music  of  the  sea  — 


NEW    THANATOPSI8. 

A  wondrous  tiling  !   which  seems  to  live,  but  does  not, 
For  nothing  lives  but  God,  and  all  in  Him. 
The  Spirit  is  a  substance,  a  pure  form 
Of  immaterial  tissue,  finely  wrought 
Into  the  human  shape,  unseen  in  this 
Our  physical  existence,  but  the  cause 
Of  all  its  motions'  and  its  very  life. 
When  ripened  for  a  more  exalted  sphere, 
The  soul  exuves  its  earthly  envelope, 
And  leaves  the  atoms  of  its  chetnic  dross  — 
(()  never,  never  more  to  he  resumed)!  — 
For  worms  or  weeds,  or  flowers  to  animate, 
While  it  withdraws  to  more  august  abodes, 
Happier  beyond  comparison,  than  those 
Who  pass  in  joy  from  hovels  all  forlorn 
To  palaces  imperial. 

None  have  died 
From  earth's  first  revolution  to  the  present, 

BUT  ALL  ARE  LIVING   WHO  HAVE   EVER  LIVED. 

/•''i///i  has  indeed  no  monuments  of  Deuili, 
Hut  < i nl i/  'V.S//V//-.S1  of  Iliose  who  passed 
'I'liinnijli  /I/is  iitfi-ifable  vale  of  shadows, 
Ami  /<//  bi'lilml  the  //riiits  of  bust/  lmti</x, 
That  are  still  busier  now,  and  songful  echoes 
Of  frii-nilli/  voices  that  are  sinyiny  sti//. 


SEVEN    DOZEN    GEMS. 

In  gloom  and  darkness  was  the  poet  lost 
Who  calls  this  earth  the  mighty  tomb  of  man; 
'Tis  but  his  temporary  habitation, 
His  cradle  and  his  school  of  discipline  — 
The  dark,  cold  ground  in  which  the  seed  is  sown, 
That,  struggling  upward,  slowly  germinates 
Until  it  bursts  into  the  shining  air. 
Not  Christ  alone  has  risen,  but  all  have  risen ; 
The  stone  is  rolled  from  every  sepulchre; 
The  grave  has  nothing  it  can  render  back. 
When  we  ascend  to  our  eternal  homes, 
We  leave  no  living  fragments  of  ourselves. 
\\'e  do  not  pass  from  nature  to  the  grave ; 
But  nature  is  our  grave,  from  which  we  rise 
At  seeming  death, —  our  real  resurrection, — 
Into  the  world  of  spirits.     And  the  tomb, 
With  all  its  grief,  and  tenderness,  and  shadoio, 
Is  the  creation  of  our  sluggish  minds, 
By  kindly  memories  and  sweet  suggestions, 
To  cherish  and  prolong  the  love  of  friends, 
Gone,  but  not  lost ;  unseen,  but  nearer  stiU, 
In  beauty  and  in  glory,  to  our  life, 
Which  lives  in  God,  immortal  as  himself. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


MAY  l  0  1973 


Form  L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 


THE  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA; 
LOS  ANGELES 


4." 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGKJNN.  LIBRARY  FAOLTJY 


A    001  345  032    5 


I 


PLEA.'i:  DO  NOT   REMOVE 
THIS  BOOK  CARD 


^l«BRARY0/> 
O  1     if-*^. 


University  Research  Library 


"D 


